


Six Unexpected Uses for Zombie Hordes

by ohmybgosh



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rickyl, Slow Build, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Zombies Are the Ultimate Wingmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit, again?” Daryl grumbled, reaching to pull out an arrow and slide it into place. He squinted at the horde of walkers coming closer, snarling and stumbling toward them, their rotted hands stretching out, fleshy fingers grasping the air. Rick stood beside him, pistol hanging loosely in his hand, the other hand on his hip, a cheeky little smile playing across his face. He turned to Daryl, ignoring the walkers, and when he spoke his voice was light and jovial.<br/>“Come on, man. You an' me, we've done this before.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Effectively Ending an Awkward Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl tries to express himself, and both of them are terrible at communicating.

It was one of those shit days. It was one of those days when Daryl’s whole body was aching and the last thing he wanted to do was get up, go out, and slaughter some walkers. It would have been nice, he thought wistfully as he sat up and picked sleepy seeds out of his eyes, to go on a hike, maybe track a buck, and sit by a warm fire with a sweating bottle of beer in one hand. But instead he was here, in the cold aftermath of January, the ground still frozen solid and the air still sharp and biting. They’d been on the move all winter after the farm fell.

Daryl rubbed his back irritably. He slept the night in the cold hard dirt, a couple of thin blankets spread out under him. He shivered, pulling his poncho tighter around his body.

“Hey,” Rick hissed from above him. Daryl looked up at him, sitting up on the rock, legs pulled tight to his chest, keeping watch. He shrugged off his jacket, setting his gun down to wriggle his arms out of the sleeves.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Daryl whispered hoarsely back.

“You sure?” Rick’s brow creased in concern. Daryl waved him off.

“Yeah, you keep it.” Rick nodded and after a moment of eyeing Daryl, probably searching for another shiver, he faced forward again, squinting at the trees.

They’d found this place almost two days ago. It wasn’t good cover, not by a long shot, but it was a place to sleep. And they needed that. Lori’s stomach was getting bigger, but the rest of her body stayed thin and her eyes looked gaunt more often than not. And Hershel, though he protested every time someone made a fuss, was getting tired, his older body not as willing to weather lack of food and constant travel as the others. Carl got tired, too, and cold, sometimes he’d whisper this to his mom and they’d stop as long as they could. Everyone was weary, but no one wanted to make the group pull their weight.

When they rolled in, parking their vehicles a ways off the road, with as much cover as they could find, the part of the forest looked barren, covered in ice and leaves all over the ground, even the pine trees looked desolate - the winter had been rougher than usual, a constant stream of bitter wind and freezing rain and even an inch or two of snow, rare for the area. Rick had said it was time to stop, and though no one said a word about it, everyone looked a little hopeful, like maybe there’d be a nice spot to sit and hunker down for a while.

This spot wasn’t perfect, but it was something they needed. They’d spent too many long nights cramped up in the cars.

After Rick, Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn searched a ways in the woods, only finding four walkers that were easy enough to kill, they found the spot, a convenient pile of boulders, offering at least some shelter from the wind.

When Glenn and Maggie headed back to the group to bring them and supplies, Rick had climbed up the biggest rock, which had a couple of divots here and there that worked as footholds. He knelt down and held out his hand. Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and grasped Rick’s hand, and with Rick’s help he pulled himself up. He slipped a little at the top, but Rick wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Rick turned away, letting go of Daryl’s hand and his arm falling to his hip, resting on his gun.

“Think this’ll be good?” Daryl had asked, his gruff voice cutting the silence of the woods. Rick nodded, eyes on the white-washed world in front of them.

“For a little while.”

Now, in the early hours of the morning, with the sun just barely peeking over the chilled horizon, Rick was up in that spot again, huddled over and watching the trees for any disturbance. He should’ve woken Daryl up; Rick had been keeping watch too long, but it looked like he was lost in his thoughts, as he tended to be these days.

With a stifled yawn, Daryl stood, stretching his arms over his head. He bent down to pick up his crossbow and quiver.

“You should get some sleep,” he called, straightening and glancing at Rick.

Eyes still on the horizon, Rick shook his head. “I’m alright.”

Daryl sighed in annoyance. Sometimes Rick’s stubbornness could be a real pain in the ass. He picked up his blankets, shaking out dirt and little chunks of ice. He slung them over his shoulder and climbed up the rock. He lost his footing on the last foothold, boot slipping on the ice, but Rick grabbed the front of his poncho and helped hoist him up.

“Thanks,” he muttered, brushing himself off. He sat beside Rick, figuring if Rick wouldn’t concede to sleep then Daryl could at least help him keep watch.

He draped one blanket over his legs and then held out the other for Rick, who took it with a grunt of thanks and draped it around his shoulders. They sat like that for a while, watching the sun slowly climb in the blank, gray, winter sky, listening to the snaps of little critters scrambling in the trees.

Every now and then Daryl cast glances at Rick. He wouldn’t say he was worried about him, but there was something going on that caused a little concern. It was pretty obvious to everyone something was up, though neither Rick nor Lori ever said anything about it, but the way they acted was different. Daryl could guess what it was, no one in their right mind wouldn’t be broken up inside, after going through what Rick did at the farm, with Shane. Rick never said much about it, though. Daryl could understand. He didn’t like to talk about shit like that either. He didn’t mind talking to Rick, though. Rick never tried to bring feelings into anything, never wanted to, and that was good.

Not that there were feelings between them, Daryl thought, picking up a pine needle and rolling it between his fingers, squinting at it like it’d done him an injustice. Just that there was no need to talk about feelings. In general.

He glanced over at Rick again. Rick’s brow was furrowed and he was absentmindedly biting his lip. He knees were still hugged close to his chest, his shoulders hunched, his arms crossed over his shins, and his gun hanging loosely in his right hand, his left holding on to his right wrist. His hair was getting longer, curling around his ears and at the base of his neck. It was flecked with gray, matching the few weeks’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Rick’s face looked thinner, their last couple lean months showing in the angular cut of his features. When dinner was passed around, Daryl tended to take his serving last or not at all, letting the others who needed it take first. This didn’t go unnoticed; both Carol and Rick always tried to secure something for him. But Rick always, without fail, cut his serving in half, keeping one on his plate and giving the other half to Lori.

Rick’s body was smaller, too. He’d never been a big muscular guy, not like Shane or T-Dog. He was tall and lean, not particularly skinny but not a big amount of fat on him either. He had lost what little extra weight he had pretty quickly in the last couple months. His clothes now hung a little looser around his body and Daryl noticed he had taken his belt a few notches in. It was worrisome, but Daryl knew there wasn’t much he could do about it. Rick would make sure Lori and Carl ate before he touched anything. Daryl hoped they would find somewhere safe soon, somewhere with a good source of food, but he knew their chances were slim. They had a few rations left, and they hunted as much as they could, but there wasn’t any extra food to go around, and, more often than not, there wasn’t enough for everyone, which meant Rick and Daryl wouldn’t eat, and Maggie always made sure her father and sister ate before her, and if Maggie didn’t eat then Glenn refused too, offering his to Lori or Carl or Hershel or Beth.

Daryl thought he’d have to go hunt that day. Maybe he’d find something good, but he didn’t hold out hope, since most of the animals he found around were slim and malnourished, the harsh winter taking its toll on them as well.

Rick sniffed and Daryl looked over at him again. Rick wiped his sleeve under his nose, which was pink, matching his cheeks. Rick’s blue eyes were watery, and Daryl couldn’t tell if it was the wind or something else. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink square of cloth he used to clean his crossbow. After checking for any blood or grime, he handed it over to Rick, who took it with another mumbled “thank you”.

“You alright?”

“Just fine,” Rick murmured, face still turned away.

“Yeah,” Daryl said slowly, drawing out the “eah”. He tied the pine needle into knots until it broke, then tossed it off the rock and picked up another, twirling it around his little finger. “Figured as much.”

“You got something you wanna say to me?” Rick looked at Daryl now, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’m not comin’ at you, Rick,” Daryl said quietly. “I’m just a little concerned is all.”

“Don’t be. Nothing to be concerned about,” Rick said shortly.

Daryl sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Rick looked at him for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed, then he turned away. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and his knees closer to his chest, looking like he was about to fold in on himself.

Daryl let out a long breath through his nose then started to push himself up, figuring he’d do something useful and go hunt for some breakfast. Rick’s hand, large and long-fingered, reached out to rest on his shoulder blade.

“You don’t have to go.” His voice was so low it was almost impossible to hear, even in the silence of the morning. Daryl sat back down, Rick’s hand still pressed into Daryl’s back, spreading warmth all the way to his stomach, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. He stared at his feet, rubbing his pink cheeks in annoyance.

“Figured I’d go get us some grub,” he mumbled. Beside him, Rick snorted.

“Is there a hamburger joint ‘round here I don’t know about?”

Daryl didn’t answer, just nudged Rick’s side lightly. Rick smiled at him, slow and deliberate, a rare one that showed his teeth and brightened his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Rick said again, all mirth leaving his voice. He was still looking at Daryl, his eyes shiny and his lips pressed together in a sad little line. Daryl felt a weird inkling in his heart, like he wanted to reach out and pull up the corners of Rick’s mouth.

“You don’t have to be,” he murmured.

“For them, I do.” Rick jerked his head behind him, at the sleeping forms of their group, Lori and Carl curled up together under a pile of blankets. Lori was on her side, one arm placed over her bulging stomach, the other tucked under her head as a makeshift pillow. Carl lay next to her, his back flat against hers, his knees bent and pulled in close to his body, and his father’s hat lying beside him, one hand casually thrown out over the brim.

Daryl eyed Rick again, running a hand through his own dirty hair. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“What about now?” Rick turned to him, his brow raising in confusion.

“What’d you mean?”

“You don’t gotta be perfect now.” Daryl turned away, glaring intently at the trees, like he was watching for walkers or worse. But he wasn’t really watching; the woods blurred in front of him and every sound, every sound but Rick’s own breaths, was drowned out by the pounding in his ears.

“Now?” Rick prompted, waiting for Daryl to go on. He didn’t, he just kept eyeing the trees, like they were the ones slowly pulling the most unexpected feelings out of him, day by day getting worse.

“Daryl…” Rick’s hand came up to touch his shoulder. Daryl flinched out of habit, and inwardly cursed himself when Rick moved away, hands up in surrender, asking for forgiveness.

“I mean you don’t gotta be fine,” Daryl mumbled after a long, beating pause. He swallowed hard and lifted his eyes to Rick’s, clarifying when Rick didn’t look any less confused. “With me.”

Rick’s lips parted, his mouth opening a fraction in surprise. He looked down at his hands, twisting his pistol around, just to do something other than stare. His lips still didn’t touch, and they were dry and cracked from the cold, and Daryl wanted to make them wet again with his own spit. He pulled at the collar of his poncho, everything suddenly too hot and uncomfortable.

“Look,” he tried, his voice cracking on the end. He pulled again at his collar. This was so fucking awkward and he wanted to just drop everything. He should’ve done that earlier, when Rick first brushed him off, but he’d gone and pushed him and now he couldn’t not say it, not after he damn started it. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Look, Rick, you don’t gotta say nothing. Just – just, you gotta know that, what I feel about y – shit, just, I mean you don’t have to. Be fine. Not with me, ‘cause I don’t care.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not asking you for anything, I’m just saying what I feel – what I think.” Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at Rick, holding his lower lip tight between his teeth. Rick still stared at his hands, trembling as he fingered his gun.

After another long, blood-pounding, face-heating pause, Rick spoke, low and nearly inaudible. “Thank you.”

Daryl nodded slowly.

“What’d you mean, when you said you feel something about – ” Rick stopped short, his spine straightening and his hands steadying. Daryl followed his gaze, passed the orange sun now halfway up the sky, passed the tree line and far out, closer to the road. Figures hobbled into view, dragging their feet, their heads tilted. Daryl held his breath and he could hear the faint, feral growls.

“How many?” he hissed, squinting at the small herd.

“’Bout ten, maybe twelve.” Rick put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder again, using Daryl’s body as leverage to help himself stand up.

“I’ll wake the group. You guard while we pack. I’ll send T-Dog and Glenn up with you.” Daryl nodded again, firmly, showing he understood. He got up as Rick hopped down from the rock, silently tapping the others awake. Kneeling, he slung his crossbow around, shaking an arrow out of his quiver and loading it up, pulling the string back until it clicked into place. He aimed at the walkers, waiting for them to get close enough to shoot down or some instruction from Rick. Half of him seethed at their arrival, for putting their group, who needed more time to recuperate, in danger, but the other half couldn’t help feeling a little relieved, a little thankful to the flesh eating dead for putting an end to a fucking uncomfortable situation.


	2. Inciting a Friendly Competition Which In Turn Incites a Deep Realization about Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rick makes a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment and kudos! You guys are the best. So the setting for this chapter is intended to be a few days after their arrival at the prison, before they discover the surviving inmates. Enjoy :D

“How many?” Glenn panted, reaching Rick and coming to a halt. His flash light beam descended on the three bodies at their feet, then came up to shine in Rick’s eyes. Rick blinked and shielded his face with his hand. Daryl, standing beside him, crossbow down and arms relaxed, snorted in amusement.

“Wanna point that somewhere else?”

“Shit, sorry.” Glenn aimed his flashlight away, shining the light on the catacomb-like walls of inner prison.

“S’alright.” Rick bent down to dislodge his hatchet from the last walker’s head. It came free with a sickening crunch. “That last one was five. You?”

“Nine,” Glenn said. He wiped his knife on his pants, dark, thick, walker blood leaving a trail over his thigh.

Daryl whistled lowly. “Christ, regular Cogburn over here.”

Glenn grinned. “What about you?”

“Eight,” Daryl grumbled.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Rick swore. Glenn and Daryl chuckled at him and he glared at the pair of them.

“You’ve gotta step up your game, old man,” Glenn teased. Rick gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Daryl snorted, bending over to pull an arrow out of one of the heads. He wiped it on the walker’s jumpsuit, then straightened up, smiling smugly at Rick. “This ain’t no candy land, Deputy.”

“Fuck you,” Rick grunted. Daryl and Glenn laughed again, Daryl patting him on the back in mock sympathy. Rick sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away from them and smiling.

“Come on, then,” he called over his shoulder, stepping over the bodies and heading further down the hall. “Let’s see who comes out on top.”

After what must have been hours of clearing, the three of them found their way back to their group’s cell block, worn and haggard but otherwise in good spirits. Daryl had put them both to shame, with a whopping nineteen walkers under his belt, while Glenn came in second with fourteen, and Rick took last place with eleven. It was a bit unfair, he thought as he unlocked the barred door and pushed it open, Glenn and Daryl on either side of him. It was a bit unfair, because, no matter where Rick thought Daryl was, every time there was a hint of a struggle between Rick and a walker an arrow would end it in an instant, sending the walker to the floor, or Daryl would suddenly be at his side, left arm holding Rick back while he pushed forward with his right, driving his knife through walker brain. He couldn’t say he minded, because Daryl was just looking out for him, like any of them would do for each other. But sometimes Rick felt like he could’ve handled things on his own, yet Daryl was always there for him even with the hint of a threat.

Carl, Maggie, and Carol rushed up to them as soon as they came through the door. Rick shut the door, locking it, and knelt down, holding his arms out when Carl came charging over. Maggie and Glenn embraced, while Carol put a small hand on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Everything go alright?” she asked, looking first at Daryl and then Rick. Rick squeezed Carl and then stood, letting his hand rest on top of Carl’s hat.

“Just fine,” he said. Glenn broke away from Maggie, smiling.

“Except for you.”

“What happened? Rick?” Lori, who had hung back when they came in, made her way over to them, one hand on her large stomach. She glanced from Glenn to Rick, face lined with worry. Rick looked away from her.

“Glenn’s just kidding,” he said, turning his attention to Carol instead. “Everything went fine.” He patted Carl and walked away, ignoring Daryl’s squinted, questioning look and breezing past Lori. He headed toward his cell, his boots clacking on the cement floor.

He pushed open the door of his cell and set his hatchet down on the lone folding chair by the bunk. He sat down on the bed, putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His head spun and every muscle ached, especially his arms and shoulders. This was all from overwork and lack of sleep. He closed his eyes, intent on taking as long a break as he could. They had found and fought their way into the prison about two days ago, maybe more, and there was still so much work they needed to do.

“Rick?” He looked up. Lori leaned against the door frame.

“Rick?” she asked again tentatively. Rick let his arms fold over his knees.

“Yeah?”

“Tonight, um.” Lori ran her fingers through her hair, brushing back her dark bangs, which were getting longer, longer than she ever kept them. When her hair was pulled back her face looked even thinner, and Rick felt a twinge of regret. That was his fault, and he’d have to get Lori extra servings when they took their dinner later.

Lori sighed and tried again. “Tonight, are you sleeping in your own cell?” She didn’t have to finish; Rick knew the “or are you sleeping with me” was implied. He wanted to say he would sleep with her, say that he would climb in beside her tonight. He missed it, lying with her, holding her tight and pressing his face into her soft, sweet hair. He missed how they used to lie in bed talking, and how she knew all the right spots to get him going or settle him down, how she’d take his hand and draw maps, constellations of kisses on his palm. Most of all he missed the days before, when Shane was just his best friend, and they had their queen size bed with the fluffy comforter, and the nights when Carl would tiptoe into their bedroom, too scared to sleep alone, and he’d crawl up under the covers to cuddle in between them, all of them facing one side and Rick slinging an arm lazily over his two favorite people in the world.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. Things were different. Sometimes he heard Shane’s voice whispering in his ear. And the baby, he had to do everything he could to protect Lori and the baby.

Rick scrubbed at his face tiredly, his too long stubble scratching against his hands. “I can’t. I’ve gotta take watch tonight.”

“But you spent all day clearing out those hordes in the cells, you need some rest – ”

“Well someone’s gotta keep watch,” Rick said shortly, cutting her off. Lori looked away from him. The metal bed frame squeaked as Rick stood. He made to leave the cell, pausing beside Lori in the doorway as he did so.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I just got stuff tonight. Tomorrow night, okay?” Lori met his eyes and nodded, giving him a tiny smile. He kissed her cheek, then walked away, leaving Lori still leaning against the door frame.

The remaining hours of the day passed quickly, the night slinking out and creeping up on them all. Rick spent the last few moments of warm sunshine and daylight with Daryl, who came up to him when he left Lori in the cell, callused fingers gripping onto Rick’s forearm.

“Thought I’d go outside, hunt down something for us to eat. Come with me?” Rick nodded gratefully, glad to have something calming to do. Daryl’s presence had that effect on him. Daryl was a mostly silent companion, only speaking when something needed to be said. He never fooled around with small talk, and that was something Rick appreciated. It was nice, being with Daryl, because he let you be in your own thoughts. Outside the prison gate, they strayed into the woods, each immersed in keeping a lookout for food or danger.

Rick followed alongside Daryl, staying light on his feet like Daryl showed him, so as not to make so much noise. (“Damn, you’re like a fuckin’ stampede,” Daryl had groaned the first time they did this, their first time in the woods together before even reaching Hershel’s farm. “Feet as heavy as yours’ gonna scare all the dinner away.” He had held out his hand, bringing Rick to a halt, and hefted his crossbow over his shoulder, pushing it out of the way so he could fix the issue. “Problem is you’re walkin’ too much on your heels. These damn boots, clickin’ everywhere.” He crouched down, one hand on Rick’s thigh for support, the other around his ankle. “You’re walkin’ heel-toe like this, see?” He moved his hand from Rick’s thigh to his toes, pushing Rick’s foot up for “heel”, then back down for “toe”. “You’ve got too much heel in your walk, gotta be more on your toes.” He looked up at Rick, blue eyes squinting in the sunlight, mouth open a little as he let out a short breath. Rick had nodded down at him, unable to help the small smile that broke out under his nose.)

They moved along in harmonious cadence that afternoon outside the prison, stepping lightly side by side over fallen logs and around thickets of bramble, taking out the five walkers they found easily, with Rick jumping out first, hatchet swinging, and Daryl back a little with his crossbow, aim accurate and precise.

They took down the walkers in a matter of minutes, Rick standing over them, his hatchet still stuck in one skull, rubbing irritably at his shoulder, which before had been an annoying ache, but now was a sharp pain, burning each time he flexed it. Daryl came to his side, giving Rick a few seconds to struggle on his own, then sighing and slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

“Lemme see.” Rick obliged and turned away, back facing him. Daryl’s fingers, rough and thick in theory but gentle in practice, came up to his shoulders, pushing aside the collar of his shirt to get at the spot. He kneaded the tender muscle, a good kind of pain seeping into Rick’s skin. “Shit, that’s a knot,” Daryl said, voice low and hoarse. Rick nodded, his eyes slowly closing and his head tilting to one side. This went on for several quiet moments, with Daryl’s cool fingers massaging the hot and sweat slicked skin on Rick’s shoulder. Too soon Daryl’s hands were gone, dropping away from Rick’s neck and trailing for a moment down his arm, and then there was a crunch of leaves as Daryl stepped back.

Rick opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders, the pain slowly returning, duller now than before. He pulled at the front of his grimy shirt to fix his collar. He turned back around to Daryl, who had his crossbow back in his hands and was staring at his feet, brow creased and lips pulled tight in a frown.

“Thanks,” Rick murmured. Daryl nodded and looked up, not at Rick but at the trees, and started forward, face still lined and hardened. Rick stared after him for a moment, then stooped over to retrieve his hatchet, stepping on the walkers head with his boot and pulling the hatchet out. He slung it over his good shoulder and followed Daryl further into the wood.

They ended up not finding much, just a skinny rabbit and a sparse quail nest, which wasn’t too high in the trees and Daryl spotted. He handed Rick his crossbow and climbed up easily, only about six feet in the air. Standing on a lower branch, he reached up and lifted up the nest, bringing it down eye level to peer into.

“Northern bobwhite,” he called down. “Surprised they’re this deep in the woods. They tend to be in more open areas, you know?” Rick nodded like he did know, hands on his hips and gazing up at Daryl. He didn’t really know anything about quail nesting patterns, but it made him chuckle to himself, knowing that Daryl took the time to learn these little facts about nature.

Daryl picked up one little white egg, delicately holding it up to the light. “Ain’t much,” he remarked. “And there’s only two of them.”

Rick looked down at the rabbit hanging from his belt. “It’ll be a light meal for all of us.” There were ten of them. This small amount of food meant tiny portions for each, and Rick didn’t plan on eating, not with Lori looking so slim.

“Well they shoulda gone to a restaurant if they wanted a fuckin’ gourmet meal.” Daryl slipped the two eggs into his pocket and placed the nest back on the higher branch. Rick stepped forward and held out his hand, but Daryl ignored it and jumped down, brushing himself off. Rick passed his crossbow over.

“It’s gettin’ dark soon,” Rick said, shielding his eyes from the bright orange rays of the setting sun. “We should head back.”

Daryl nodded and squinted in the light up at the quail’s nest, raising his hand to block out the sun. “Funny they’re out here,” he said quietly, still on his earlier thought. “They like being in fields or at the edges of the forest, not so deep in.” He looked down and reached into his pocket, taking out the two little white eggs to cradle them in his hands. Rick came to his side and eyed the quail’s eggs over Daryl’s shoulder, tiny and frail in his palm.

“Maybe they’ve had to adapt too,” Rick murmured. “Maybe they’ve gotta change their lifestyle, live different places, just like us.” Daryl swallowed thickly and put the eggs back in his pocket, sniffing and looking away from Rick, back toward the prison. Through the trees the watch tower was just barely visible, the bright sunlight glinting off the metal roof.

“Yeah.” He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and glanced back up at the nest. “Shame the momma isn’t here. We could do with somethin’ more to cook.” He let out a breath through his nose and cocked his head at Rick.

“Ready?” Rick nodded and together they made their way back to the prison, the starved rabbit swinging at Rick’s side.

Later that evening Carol and Beth cooked dinner outside in the yard, with help from Lori and Carl, and each person ended up with a small chunk of meat and about a teaspoon sized serving of scrambled egg. Carol passed Rick his serving, egg and meat balancing on his plate, which wasn’t really a plate, just the lid to a glass jar. He thanked her and took it over to Lori, who sat leaning against the wall of the watch tower, firelight reflecting in her eyes. He tipped his food onto her plate, shaking his head when she tried to protest.

“Eat,” he insisted. “I’m not hungry.” He walked away before she could try to argue. Ignoring his stomach, which growled and clenched painfully, Rick wandered over to Daryl and T-Dog, the two of them standing by the gate, T-Dog with his shotgun over his shoulder like a soldier, and Daryl standing beside him with his arms crossed, looking out through the fence in thought.

T-Dog looked up when he heard Rick coming. “Finished dinner?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Rick smiled at him.

“Yeah, go on, Carol’s got yours waitin’.” T-Dog grinned, clapped him on the back, and hurried in the direction of the fire. Rick watched him for a moment, then went up to the gate, hooking his fingers in the fence and narrowing his eyes to try and see in the night. Dark shapes, walkers, wandered by, the sounds of their low growls and rusty breathing carrying in the wind.

“Anything out there?”

“Nothin’.” Daryl bit absentmindedly at his thumbnail. “You really eat somethin’?”

Rick didn’t answer.

“I figured.” His words were gruff and short, and Rick looked up at him, his brow furrowing.

“Lori needs to eat.”

“So do you.” Daryl leaned to the side to spit out a hangnail. He straightened, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and met Rick’s eyes.

Rick sighed. He didn’t want to pick a fight today, especially not with Daryl, who was stubborn and prickly as all hell but right-minded more often than not.

“I know,” he mumbled, wearily running his hand over his graying stubble. “When’s there’s enough to go around I will.”

Daryl made a “tch” noise and held out his hand. A small little piece of rabbit meat lay forlornly in the middle of his palm, looking pink and cold and wet and greasy.

“You gotta eat, Rick.”

Rick eyed the meat warily. “When’s the last time you washed your hands?”

Daryl rolled his eyes at him. “Don’t be a pussy and eat the fuckin’ food.”

Rick took it, the rabbit meat slippery and cold in his fingers. He held it up to his eyes. A little chunk of gristle dangled from the meat, hanging by a thin, pink string of rabbit skin.

“You eat already?” he asked.

“Yeah, Carol brought some over. I saved that for you.” Daryl crossed his arms again and kicked a bit of dirt with his shoe.  

Rick thought the best way to say thank you would be to pretend to enjoy the food, so he stuck the chunk of meat in his mouth, chewed, and forced himself to swallow. He gave Daryl a wide smile. Daryl’s mouth tugged at the corner and he looked away.

Rick watched Daryl toe the dirt again, Daryl’s arms re-crossing in front of his chest.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“What about?” Daryl asked slowly, his voice edging on defensive.

“’Bout somethin’ earlier today, when we were clearin’ out all those walkers.”

“Go ahead,” Daryl said, his voice lighter, but his arms were still crossed and his shoulders didn’t relax.

“Seems like every time a walker’d come at me, you’d be there, shootin’ it down.” Rick turned toward Daryl, and leaned on the gate, his fingers still looped through the fence.

“I did the same for Glenn.”

“Did you, though?”

Daryl didn’t answer, casting his eyes away and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“And now, making sure I had some food,” Rick continued. “I was just wonderin’, why?” He eyed Daryl, waiting for a response.

Daryl shrugged. “Just lookin’ out for you.”

“I can look out for myself,” Rick said, not meaning it to be rude. He meant it as a fact, which it was. He could look out for himself, had done it before coming to the camp in Atlanta. A small voice in his head reminded him of where he’d be without Morgan the day he woke up, or where he’d be if Glenn hadn’t saved him in the tank, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He could take care of himself, and his family, and he didn’t need Daryl to put his own neck on the line for Rick.

“I know,” Daryl mumbled, avoiding Rick’s eyes.

“Well?” He looked at Daryl pointedly, searching for a real answer.

“Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry about.” Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, starting back toward the fire and the rest of the group.

“Hey, hang on a minute, will you?” Rick then did something he wished he hadn’t. In what seemed like barely a fraction of a second, he pushed himself off the fence and grabbed Daryl’s arm, trying to get him to stop and talk. Daryl flinched and spun around, raising his fist and punching Rick square in the jaw. Rick stumbled back, his hand raising to touch his cheek in shock.

Daryl’s blue eyes were wide and his lips parted, his mouth opening in a little “oh”, like he, too, was taken aback.

“I’m sorry.” Daryl’s breath came out in a rush and he tripped forward, reaching out to Rick. He stopped short, eyes bright and nostrils flaring, and let his hand fall.

“It’s – it’s fine,” Rick said hurriedly, holding his hands out in what he hoped was an unthreatening gesture. “I’m fine, really.”

Daryl shook his head fiercely. “No, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He spun around, lifting his arms and gripping his hair tightly.

“Daryl?” Rick took a careful step forward, concern leaking into his voice. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Daryl shook his head again.

“No, really,” Rick continued with a shaky laugh. He felt the need to make things lighter, make Daryl feel better. Because Daryl didn’t do anything wrong. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and Rick had pushed the subject too far. “I deserved that, I was bein’ a dick.”

“No, Rick, I’m so sorry, I – fuck.” His fingers tightened in his hair. “I never wanted to hurt you, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Rick said again, taking another small step forward.

“No, don’t start.” Daryl turned back to face him, his cheeks colored red, looking like a tea kettle ready to burst. “You’re _always_ fuckin’ fine. Lori’s right, you never fuckin’ say anythin’. You never actually talk to me, an’ I never know what you’re really thinkin’, and God dammit, Rick, you don’t have to be fine all the damn time!” He was so close to Rick now, his nose inches from Rick’s, the high color in his cheeks spreading across under his eyes like a sunburn, creeping up to the tips of his ears. His chest moved up and down heavily and he smelled like woods and dirt and sweat and campfire ash. Rick swallowed and blinked.

“When did you talk to Lori about me?” he croaked after a long pause.

Daryl sighed in frustration, straightening and moving away a little, so that there was now a foot of space between them. “That’s what you got out of it?” He shook his head in annoyance, but his mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.

“Back when we were at the camp, ‘fore you came along. We were all talkin’ about past lives, reminicin’ and shit, and she talked about you. Said you two got in fights about it.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “You never open up to people.”

Rick bristled. “Well, you never do either.”

Daryl scoffed at him. “When have you ever asked me ‘bout myself?”

“I – loads of times,” Rick said, trailing off at the end, realizing as he said it that it wasn’t true. When had he ever asked Daryl about himself? He couldn’t think of a time, apart from the disastrous attempt moments ago. He knew some things about Daryl, some things he observed, like Daryl’s inability to give up on something once he’d set his mind to it, or his likeness to a cactus, prickly and spiky on the outside but soft and gooey once you opened him up, and some things he was told, by other members of the group or by Daryl himself.

Daryl gave him a disgruntled look. Rick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his face heat up in shame. “I shoulda asked you about stuff. And I shoulda told you about stuff, when you asked.”

“Think so?” Daryl grumbled. He went over to the gate, leaning against it and looking out without really seeing anything. Rick watched him with interest. Daryl had on his poncho again, the ridiculous thing he’d found while they’d been on the move all winter. His crossbow was in its usual spot, settled heavily in between his shoulder blades, the thick strap resting over his chest. Daryl had lost weight, just like everyone else, but he’d replaced his just barely surfacing beer belly with hard muscle. This world suited him well. Not like it did with Shane, where he thrived and took advantage, but in a different way. Daryl looked like he belonged here. It pained Rick to know that he couldn’t picture Daryl anyplace else. It made him guilty to know that he was glad Daryl was here, instead of someplace safer, because they all needed him here. Daryl kept them safe.

Rick took a slow step forward, the dirt crunching under his boots. When Daryl didn’t turn or make a move, he took another step, and another, until he was right beside him, their arms brushing together. Daryl didn’t look at him, but his posture straightened and he drew in a sharp breath though his nose at the touch.

“Why did you do those things for me?” His voice was so quiet, low and husky, the way it always was when he was feeling real shy, scared to say something but knew he needed to.

“You know.” Daryl finally looked at him then, a little sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reached up, and Rick’s heart leaped to his throat, and he wished he would’ve just dropped the whole thing, because this wasn't right, not to Lori, not to Daryl, not to himself, yet it was suddenly the only thing he really wanted. But Daryl’s hand just lightly grasped Rick’s chin, turning Rick’s head to the side to get a good look at his jaw.

“S’not too bad,” he murmured. “Should be fine, but have a Hershel take a look at it to be sure.” Daryl’s hand dropped away and Rick felt cold, something absent inside of him.

“You should go have Hershel take a look now,” Daryl said, turning away from Rick and back to the world beyond the gate. Rick nodded but stayed put, his body feeling too light and fuzzy to walk anywhere just yet. He couldn't remember wanting to do it, or his head telling himself to do it, but his hand moved seemingly of its own accord, brushing his fingertips against Daryl's forearm, against the smooth skin exposed just below the hem of his poncho.

“Go back, Rick,” Daryl said quietly. His eyes were closed and there was a strange sort of grimace on his face, like someone was taking a large splinter out of his foot. “Go back to your family. I’ll keep watch.”

Rick left him there and did as Daryl said, walking away in a slow line, his eyes on his feet, his shaking hands shoved into his pockets. He reached the rest of the group, shaking his head at Carol, who asked if Daryl was coming too, and sat down next to Lori, who had moved closer to the fire. He stared into the flames, the heat warming his face, and pulled his knees into his chest.

“You alright?” she asked quietly.

Rick nodded.

“What happened to your face?” Her voice pitched higher in concern. “It looks swollen.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated for what must have been the hundredth time that day. He didn’t feel fine. In truth, one side of his face throbbed painfully, and both sides of his heart ached with a great deal of things, the biggest thing newly emerging and something he wouldn’t acknowledge, not ever, not even if it plagued him every day.

He couldn’t help looking over at Daryl, a small, lone figure leaning against the gate to the prison. He couldn’t help the hard lump that rose in his throat. He realized he did know Daryl, and he didn’t ask about anything because he never needed to. The two of them had grown inexplicably close, starting with Daryl slowly becoming the one he looked to for guidance more than Shane, then more than Lori, and finally more than himself. He realized he didn’t want Daryl here for the safety of the group; he wanted Daryl here for selfish reasons, because Rick needed him.

He forced himself to look away.

“You sure you’re alright?” Lori murmured. Rick nodded and looked down at her, forcing a smile.

“I’m just fine,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders gently. “I’ll come to your cell tonight.”


	3. Securing a Cuddle Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which snuggling ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for commenting and kudos-ing! I'm sorry this chapter came out so late!

Rick was at the end of his rope. He found himself on the outside of the prison, shoved against the fence by three walkers, all trying to rip his skin off. Without ammo, he could fight off one walker, maybe two. But three and a fourth closing in? Plus the other six making their way across the stream. No, for a split second Rick was sure he was going to die. And for a split second Rick thought that would be just fine. Maybe he’d actually see Lori, Dale, Jim, Amy, his parents, even Shane. But, thinking on it a little, he probably wouldn’t see them. Anywhere those people went, except for Shane, would be too good for Rick. No, he’d see only Shane, and the rest of the shitty people of the world who got turned away by the better afterlife he wasn’t sure he even believed in.

He shouldn’t have come out here, chasing an imaginary ghost. But it meant something. He thought it did. He thought she was leading him somewhere, but all that ended up happening was Rick running in circles, sweating in the sun and talking to himself. He kept replaying things in his head; Lori before the outbreak yelling at him to say something for Christ’s sake, seeing Lori and Carl when he climbed out of that van, Shane’s sternum breaking as Rick drove his knife up, a walker fully sated on his wife’s corpse, the static of a phone line, Daryl walking away from him and toward his brother, Daryl glancing over his shoulder when Rick called his name, Daryl’s warm hands massaging into his knotted muscles, Lori’s watery gaze and Rick’s cold shoulder, Carl holding his baby sister, little Judith with Lori’s eyes. He kept stumbling through the brush, his vision hazy around the edges, like a thumb in the corner of a camera lens. And all that for what? So he could die out here, alone, with people who needed him, people he cared about, people who were here and alive and in danger, on the inside.

All this was only in a few short moments, while he struggled to throw off the walkers, each second his arms getting weaker and his mind going in and out between “it’s time” and “not yet.” But his fight was cut short by an arrow sliding thickly through zombie brain and coming to a gory halt inches from his own forehead.

He pushed the body away, using the handle of his gun to bash in another walker’s head. It fell at his feet and he looked up, eyes darting from Dixon to Dixon. Daryl was breathing heavily, sweat beading at his hairline. He didn’t smile at Rick, didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him through squinted blue eyes, his chest moving slowly up and down, his whole body taut like he was waiting for Rick to do something drastic. In that moment Rick wanted to do a couple of things – tackle Daryl to the ground and punch him in the face for leaving, latch himself onto Daryl and hold him tight – but he stayed put, feet planted firmly in place, his own chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath. He couldn’t take his eyes off Daryl. Merle was saying something on the sidelines, something snarky that Rick didn’t register. After a moment that seemed to last several minutes, but couldn’t have been longer than four seconds, Rick gave Daryl a curt nod, and Daryl nodded back, his body relaxing a fraction.

“Come on, ladies!” Merle raised his metal arm, the thick knife stabbing the air like a victor’s fist. “Let’s get goin’!”

Daryl gave Merle an exasperated glance. He came forward, crossbow in one hand and the other held out to Rick. Rick took it and Daryl pulled him away from the fence, catching him one-handed under Rick’s arm when he nearly tripped over a body. Rick brushed himself off and followed Daryl, who followed Merle, who led the way into the open gate, laughing as he swung at a walker, whooping and calling, “Keep up, Darylina!”

It took them a while to fight to the prison, what with the open gate bringing in more hordes and the pack of walkers the Governor’s trailer dropped off. Rick didn’t complain about Daryl sticking to his side this time. He had his empty Colt Python, which he used to bash in skulls, but it wasn’t as effective as Daryl’s crossbow or Merle’s knife.

They worked their way across the yard in a crude cadence, dangerous and stupid, but ultimately getting the job done. Merle hopped around about ten feet in front of them. He laughed, swinging haphazardly as he went. Rick and Daryl worked slower, with Rick clutching onto the back of Daryl’s winged vest. Two walkers had stumbled over to them at once on their broken feet. Rick surged forward to knock one with the handle of his gun, successfully crushing its head, but the other swiped at him and he jumped back, the walker’s hand just barely whizzing by his face. Daryl shot it down, and Rick, his hands shaking, grabbed a fistful of Daryl’s vest. Daryl said nothing and kept moving, and they stayed like that all the way up to the prison, with Rick clinging to Daryl and Daryl leading him in a hurry to the safety of the inner fence.

When they reached the next gate, Carol was there to pull it back, her face and thin, bare arms caked in blood, some thick and congealed walker blood, but mostly the live red of a human. She wrapped her arms around Rick after he shut and locked the gate, her face wet with tears and blood.

“You came back,” she said, pulling away, her voice cracking. Rick nodded, but Carol wasn’t looking at him anymore.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, his voice gruff. He hefted his crossbow over his shoulder and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, in the way he always did when he didn’t know what to say. Carol smiled bright and pulled him into a hug. Rick shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to Merle, who whistled to himself and walked along the fence, trailing his knife along the chain and causing the walkers still in the yard to scramble alongside him, growling and shoving their rotting fingers through the links.

Later that evening, Rick got up from the table where he’d been sitting with Hershel and Daryl, stifling a yawn behind his hand. Hershel looked up, eyes crinkling in concern, while Daryl squinted over at the door in the dark, trying to make out the shape of his brother through the bars, hunched over and fiddling with something in his hand. 

“Where’re you going?” Hershel asked.

“My turn for watch,” Rick grunted. He gestured over in the direction of the watch tower outside, where Maggie was currently posted.

Daryl’s head snapped up, his gaze focused on Rick now. “Not your turn,” he said. “Glenn’s got next watch.”

Rick gave Daryl a disgruntled look, which Daryl returned, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth pulled tight in a thin frown. Rick looked away.

“Figured I’d give Glenn a break,” he said after a moment.

“I’m alright, I can do it.” Glenn’s footsteps echoed off the concrete walls, stopping when he came to a halt behind Rick, his small but strong hand clapping Rick once on the shoulder. “Thank you, though.”

“You need your rest,” Hershel said. “You fought through an entire herd of walkers out there today.”

“Wasn’t too bad.” Rick put his hands on his hips and glared down at his scuffed up boots.

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, wasn’t too bad. Ain’t like you woulda died if Merle’n I didn’t come and get you.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Rick said shortly.

“Hey now.” Hershel’s soft voice cut off Daryl’s huffed breath and whatever harsh words he was getting ready to throw back.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” Hershel continued, looking at each of them in turn. Daryl crossed his arms and gave Rick a contemptuous look. Rick glared down at his boots again. Glenn bit his lip and looked from one man to another, like he was waiting for one to attack.

“Let’s just all get some rest, alright?” Hershel said softly.

Daryl nodded and stood, pushing himself up from the table. He stomped away and up the stairs to his bed.

“Rick?” Rick looked up.

“Hm?”

“Get some rest, son,” Hershel said, his kind eyes filling with pity or sorrow, Rick didn’t know. He nodded slowly and turned away, heading over to his cell. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Above, he could hear rustling, the quiet clink of a belt unbuckling, the swoosh of it being pulled free, and the soft thump of jeans hitting the floor. There was another little rustling noise, and then silence. Rick waited a moment, debating. He put his hand on the cold metal railing. Behind him, Hershel and Glenn exchanged a few words, then the door to their cell block swung open and shut again. More sounds came from above, a cough and another rustle. Rick shook his head and gripped the railing, climbing softly up the stairs.

It was clear Daryl didn’t like the prison; it made him anxious and claustrophobic and he much preferred the wide open outdoors to hiding out in a cell. But the prison was their sanctuary now, and nobody planned on letting it go, not unless they had to. And Rick planned on dying before he gave up this little piece of hope his family had. But, regardless of their safety, Daryl didn’t like sleeping in the cells. He had claimed the landing on the stairway when they first arrived, and it didn’t matter that people used the stairway; they’d never wake him up, seeing as he was usually the last to turn in and the first to rise. This was where Rick found him, curled up under his blanket, with a thin mattress on the cold cement floor beneath him, his poncho bunched up into a ball and stuffed under his head as a makeshift pillow. His back was to Rick, so Rick couldn’t see his face, but he heard the rough sigh after he leaned against the metal rail and it creaked the tiniest bit.

“You need somethin’?” Daryl mumbled, his voice muffled.

Rick let out a slow breath through his nose. He didn’t know what he needed. Before, he needed to yell at Daryl for walking off with Merle like that, but now he couldn’t seem to find the energy to be pissed anymore. He slid to the floor, his back still pressed against the rail, and sat down, pulling his legs into his chest. He put his chin on his knees and closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. In the shadows he could see shapes, familiar figures standing in the dark. But when he closed his eyes it wasn’t so bad.

He heard Daryl sigh again and roll over.

“You should get some sleep.”

Rick nodded, eyes still closed. He felt exhausted, but he didn’t want to sleep. He had started having nightmares, and sometimes he woke up delirious, thinking Lori was right beside him or thinking he could hear the faint sizzling of her cooking breakfast in the kitchen, thinking he could smell the ghost of her god-awful pancakes.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Daryl asked gruffly. “You look like shit.”

Rick snorted and opened his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Daryl sat up, sitting down cross-legged, and rubbed his eyes. He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt lifting up a bit with the movement, the scarred skin on his stomach just peeking out over the elastic band of his boxers, then let his hands fall into his lap. He eyed Rick wearily.

“Why’d you come up here?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” Rick mumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was getting long and needed a good wash.

“You still pissed at me?” Daryl’s voice had a wary edge to it.

Rick shook his head. “No.” After a pause, he added, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Daryl shrugged and looked away.

“You wanna talk about it?” he grumbled, playing absentmindedly with the frayed strings hanging off his blanket.

“Not really.”

“Good.” Daryl gave a string one last tug, then lay back down, facing Rick this time, and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. He yawned widely and peeked over at Rick through tired, squinted eyes.

“You gonna sleep there?” he asked.

Rick looked down at himself, considering it for a second, then smiled weakly at Daryl and shook his head.

“You gonna sleep at all?”

Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”

Daryl pushed himself up on one elbow, the blanket falling around his middle. With his free hand he beckoned Rick over and patted the spot next to him.

Rick blinked at him.

“I can’t…” he began.

“Then don’t,” Daryl said simply, one arm resting on his side, his hand fingers splayed over the flattened mattress, his other arm still propping him up. He fixed Rick with an almost challenging stare.

Rick surveyed him for a moment, then stood, his body aching from overwork, and toed off his boots, kneeling down to peel off his grimy socks. He took off his holster, setting it on the ground, and brought his hands to his belt buckle. He hesitated for a moment, then unbuckled it, and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. He unbuttoned his shirt, fingers stumbling but finally doing their job, and tossed that to the ground, too. He stood like that for a moment, uncharacteristically shy and unsure, clad in nothing but his underwear. He felt rather stupid, and was suddenly aware of how ridiculously pale and string-bean-like his limbs looked.

Daryl patted the space beside him again and Rick came over to him, his footsteps hushed and barely audible. He knelt down, the cement cold and unforgiving on his knees, and Daryl scooted to the side to give him more room. Daryl held up the blanket and Rick climbed in, curling up on his side facing Daryl, barely an inch of space between them. Daryl fixed the blanket over Rick’s body and settled back down, resting his head on his poncho.

They lay like that for several moments, a stripe of moonlight painting the ragged blanket, the sounds of their group below them reaching their ears, of people shifting in their creaky beds and the scratching sound of Hershel writing something at the table.

The nights in the prison tended to be cold, and this night was no excuse. The wind rattled through broken glass in the windows and snuck in the holes in Daryl’s blanket, raising goose bumps on Rick’s arms. He could feel the warmth emanating from Daryl’s body, and that, among other things, was what made him scoot forward and worm his way into Daryl’s personal space, slinging one arm over Daryl’s side, the other bent and pressed awkwardly between them, and ducked his head under Daryl’s arm, resting his forehead against Daryl’s warm chest, feeling Daryl’s heart pick up and skip a beat under his shirt.

Daryl let out a deep breath that ruffled the flyaway hairs on Rick’s head. He pulled Rick closer, sliding one arm between Rick’s neck and shoulder, and the other underneath Rick’s armpit. He hugged him close and Rick wiggled his toes under Daryl’s legs, trying to get as much heat from him as he could.

Daryl flinched and Rick lifted his head, chin resting on Daryl’s chest.

“Fuck, your feet are cold,” Daryl hissed. He glared down at Rick, but couldn’t help the grin that snuck over and spread across his face.

“Sorry,” Rick murmured. He settled back down, keeping his feet in place between Daryl’s legs, because, fuck it, they were cold and Daryl was warm. He put his head on Daryl’s arm, using it as a pillow, and closed his eyes. Beside him, Daryl shifted, the weight of his arm over Rick leaving momentarily as he grunted and readjusted his poncho, then the mattress gave out a little puff of air as he lay his head on his poncho and his arm sunk back down, a heavy comfort over Rick’s hip.

Below them, the door to their block creaked and swung shut. Rick heard Merle’s voice, saying something snide, and Maggie’s sharp comeback. Hershel’s voice cut over them, short and firm. Rick opened his eyes and turned his head, feeling a small twinge of guilt, knowing he should be down there to smooth things out. But Daryl lifted up his rough, callused hand to brush a curl off of Rick’s forehead, and Rick grunted and lay back down.

He shut his eyes, more content and peaceful than he’d felt in a long time. Daryl’s slow breathing blew bursts of warm air over Rick’s forehead, and, as the night wore on, turned into small snores, his arm falling off Rick’s side and his whole body relaxing.

Rick’s eyelids were heavy, and his mind, before buzzing with worry and anger, was now in a half-dreamlike state, his thoughts transitioning from “gotta feed Judith in the morning” and “find a plan for dealin’ with the Govenor” to hazy, happy memories; to Judith bouncing up and down in his arms and him hearing her first laugh, to Lori smiling at him from afar with one hand resting on top of her belly, to two-year-old Carl cackling and smearing applesauce all over Rick’s face when he tried to feed him, and to Daryl, who was slowly starting to weave his way into Rick’s heart, to Daryl, who was always at his side, to Daryl, here and now and warm around him.


	4. Indirectly Assisting in the Commencement of Intercourse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rick and Daryl struggle to find some alone time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos; you guys keep me writing. This chapter turned out a lot longer than expected, so enjoy, and (shameless promo here) if anyone wants to send me a prompt or just come talk you can do so here: http://ohmybgosh.tumblr.com/  
> I hope you all have a wonderful holiday c:

Daryl leaned against a post on the inner fence and wiped sweat out of his eyes. Mouth half open, trying to catch his breath, he watched Carol in front of him, left hand gripping the wooden brace for support, right hand driving a fire poker through a walker’s skull. Dark, congealed blood spattered onto her arm and chest. The walker fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Nice one,” Daryl snorted. Carol glanced at him over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out.

“Why don’t you come over here and help me out, pookie?”

Daryl rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the fence, bending over to pick up the tire iron off the ground.

“S’ fuckin’ hot out here,” he grumbled, swatting a mosquito away from his face.

“Yeah, well, Georgia heat.” Carol sighed and left it at that. They’d been out there for nearly two hours, checking up on the strength of the braces and taking out the walkers pushing the fence. There weren’t as many as last week, but Daryl was starting to worry about the strength of the fence. It would take a lot more walkers to bring it down, but still. The fuckers were already piling up enough to bend the chain-links inward.

Daryl stood beside Carol and together they dispatched the rest of the walkers under the sweltering heat of the sun, the sky baby blue and utterly cloudless.

“You want to take a run and do perimeter check with me?” Carol asked, putting her hand on her chest to catch her breath. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and rubbed at her sunburned nose.

Daryl shook his head. “I can do it.”

Carol’s hand went to her hip. “I can to.”

“Nah, you can shower. You smell.” Daryl grinned at her.

“No worse than you,” she shot back, that small smile breaking on her face. “Sure you’re good alone?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He held out the tire iron. “Here, trade you.”

Carol took the tire iron and handed him the fire poker. He gave her a mock salute and turned away.

“Don’t work too hard,” she called. Daryl gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder and kept going.

Perimeter checks were rarely eventful, but altogether necessary, he decided long ago. If you were lucky, mostly the only action would be a handful of walkers. But there was the occasion scare, like the time Michonne came silently out the woods after a day of tracking and almost gave Daryl a heart attack when she whistled at him.

Today Daryl didn’t see a thing, not even a single walker, probably because they’d all been drawn to the crowd at the fence, what with the noises the horde was making. But he didn’t complain, because, walking along the edge of the fence, his fingers trailing absentmindedly along the metal links, brought him to the garden. He looked up when he heard Rick’s voice, that gruff twang, that hint of Appalachian English, a byproduct of growing up in King’s County, where the northern dialect dripped down from Atlanta like molasses.

Rick was kneeling in the dirt with Hershel standing at his side and Carl sitting a couple feet away in the grass, holding the Lil’ Asskicker under her chubby arms and bouncing her on his knee.

Daryl’s mouth tugged at the corner and he came over and leaned against the inner fence, gripping the metal with his fingers.

“No, no, that’s not deep enough,” Hershel was saying. He lifted one of his crutches off the ground to point it at the unearthed dirt in front of Rick. “You don’t want them getting uncovered in the rain.”

Rick nodded and scooped up some dirt with his hand.

“That’s better,” Hershel said. “You have the seeds?”

“Yeah, they’re here somewhere.” Rick fished around in his pocket and pulled his hand back out, bunched in a fist. He held it out for Hershel, his fingers uncurling, tiny seeds Daryl couldn’t see sitting on his palm.

“You do it,” Hershel said kindly. “You’re the farmer here.”

Rick chuckled and dropped the seeds in the ground, then took handfuls of dirt to sprinkle over them.

“The beans will grow nicely here, along with our tomatoes.” Hershel leaned over, gripping his crutch between his side and upper arm, and felt one of the leaves on the tomato plant. “They should bear fruit soon.”

“I hope so,” Rick said, standing up and brushing off his hands on the front of his already grubby t-shirt. He smiled over at Carl, whose face was shadowed by the brim of his hat, and who was leaning back on his elbows in the grass, his legs stretched out, his baby sister sitting on his lap and hitting a red Solo cup against his knee.

Rick turned back to Hershel, opening his mouth to say something, then did a double-take when he saw Daryl. He raised his hand to block out the sun.

“Daryl?”

Daryl felt pretty damn stupid. He should’ve said something earlier, or just kept walking, but he got caught up in watching Rick, so at ease for the first time in a while. He felt a blush creeping up his neck and color his cheeks. He raised his hand in a little wave.

“I’ll be right back,” Rick said, and Hershel smiled and patted his shoulder. Rick came over to the fence, his hand still raised to shade his eyes.

“Perimeter check?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of Daryl. His hair was slicked back with sweat, getting longer and curlier and possibly more unruly every day. His beard was growing too, flecked with gray and making him look older than he was. His arms and face were covered with a sheen of sweat. He wiped beads of it off his brow, leaving a streak of brown dirt across his forehead. Daryl smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything looks good.”

Rick smiled back at him and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Before, when things weren’t as stable, they seemed like wrinkles from stress and age, but now they looked like they could be laugh lines.

“You got a little somethin’.” Daryl waved vaguely in front of his own forehead.

Rick tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand, succeeding only in smearing more dirt on his face. Daryl bit his lip.

“Here,” he said, taking his cloth from his back pocket and pushing it through the chain-link fence. Rick took it and rubbed his brow, getting rid of most of the dirt.

“Come check out the pen.” Rick handed the cloth back and nodded in the direction of the garden. Daryl squinted, seeing nothing but plants and Hershel and Carl and Judith.

“I don’t see a fuckin’ pen,” he muttered.

“That’s ‘cause it’s not there yet.” Rick patted Daryl’s hand, which was still gripping the fence, and gave him a sympathetic smile.

Daryl eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows knitting together. “What the fuck am I gonna be lookin’ at then?”

Rick grinned, wicked and wide, his eyes lighting up with mirth. “Just get over here and you’ll see.” He turned, heading over to the gate and glancing behind his shoulder to make sure Daryl was coming.

Daryl trotted along behind him on the other side of the fence, slipping through the gate when Rick opened it and setting the fire poker in place with the rest of the fence weapons. He followed Rick over to the garden, stopping abruptly when Rick threw his arm out, his hand hitting Daryl in the chest.

“You’re gonna step on it.”

“Step on what?” Daryl grunted, leaning around Rick and following Rick’s gaze to the ground. Strange lines of unearthed dirt cut through the grass.

“Blueprints,” Rick said. He smiled slightly, no longer joking but sort of hopeful and proud.

“For the pen?” Daryl asked.

“It’ll be great. Hershel says we can catch some of those wild pigs in the forest, build ‘em up a nice little shack with a roof.” He pointed to a big rectangle on the left side of the crude outline. “And they won’t be hard to domesticate.” He looked up at Hershel.

Hershel smiled and came over to them.

“That’s right,” he said. “We’ll be able to feed ‘em our scraps, now that we’ll have some real food growing.” His voice held the same level of excitement, like he and Rick were both immersed wholeheartedly in their project.

“We might even be able to get a horse,” Rick said.

“Where’re you gonna find one?” Daryl asked, a little skeptical.

“There were a few farms around here,” Hershel said slowly, his tone lighting on that lamenting lilt he got when he talked about the pre-outbreak days. He looked around, as if a horse was clip-clopping about the yard as he spoke. “I expect they’ve all gone down by now, but maybe there’s some livestock left. Or a horse could’ve got away, survived all this time just like we did.”

“We’ll find one.” Rick looked out into the yard too, and Daryl remembered the story Glenn told, some time ago in the camp at the quarry, of Rick, sheriff’s uniform and all, riding into an infested city on a big brown horse, like a cowboy from the west, like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. He swallowed thickly; thinking of the camp made him think of Dale, of Merle, of himself coming at Jim with a pickaxe and Rick holding a gun to his forehead.

Rick looked like he was thinking too; his face clouded over and he brought his thumb and forefinger up to the bridge of his nose, his hand trembling the tiniest bit. Daryl wanted to reach out and take his hand and hold it against his own cheek, just to see what it felt like. He inwardly cursed himself and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Hershel shook his head, coming out of his reverie, and patted Rick’s arm. “Why don’t we go check out the garden?”

He squeezed Rick’s arm, giving him a small smile, and then crutched around the blueprint to the garden. Rick followed him and Daryl followed Rick, stepping carefully around the future pig pen and over to the garden.

The garden was a fairly new addition to their home at the prison. It was Hershel’s idea, and he dragged Rick in on it too, probably sensing that Rick was well overdue for a break. Anyway, Hershel had taught Rick the basics, and the two of them were always out here together, occasionally with help from Beth and Carl, first aerating the soil and tilling it with a spade – the lone garden tool they had. Hershel had some tomato seeds to begin with, just a tiny pinch of them, wrapped in a tissue and stuffed in his pocket when the farm fell, with the hope that they’d be able to start some new life. They tomato plants were still short and sad looking, but Hershel said they would grow in just fine; they just needed some time, effort, love, and maybe a little fertilizer. A few days ago, out looking for game and tracking a trail that was already cold and weeks old, Daryl had found a weathered little cottage a ways into the woods. It was already ransacked, no food or useful tools in sight, but on top of the fireplace mantle Daryl found a packet of seeds, and when he wiped off the thick layer of dust he saw they were green beans. He stuck them in his pocket and kept looking, finding nothing but a couple of unlit matches scattered on the floor.

The garden really was coming along nicely, and apparently now they had plans to expand their little farm. Daryl was still skeptical; sure, they had enough food and water to sustain all their people, but extra mouths to feed, even if they ate swill and hay, was something to consider, and they were still working out the kinks in their water system.

“We planted the seeds you brought,” Hershel said, leaning on one of his crutches and reaching out to take Judith from Carl, who had come over to see what they were up to. She cooed at him, teeny and round and pink in his arm. Hershel smiled at her and the Lil’ Asskicker smiled back at him, with her infectious laugh and two tiny teeth.

Rick crouched down, picking up a rusted tin can. It sloshed when he picked it up and he carefully watered the lumps of soil where the green beans would grow. He set the can down and grabbed a hold of Daryl’s waist for leverage to pull himself up, and then he didn’t let go, just let his hand slowly travel up the wings on his vest and up to skim his fingers across the back of his neck and come to a stop, so that his arm was casually resting around Daryl’s shoulders. Daryl looked at him quickly, blushing all over again, but Rick wasn’t paying attention. He was smiling brightly at Hershel, Carl, and Judith, his lips pulled back over his teeth and his eyes sparkling.

Things had been going in and out for a while now. Most days were what Daryl was used to, friendly and light and working together to do what needed to be done. Daryl had always found himself subconsciously gravitating toward Rick’s side – the first time was quite a shock, when he was out there in his own spot on the farm, thinking he wanted to be alone, and then something felt wrong and missing, and he hugged his knees to his chest and glanced over at Rick and Shane sitting on the porch steps, Rick’s hands drawing pictures in the air as he talked, and Daryl realized his missed Rick, which was stupid because he’d just talked to him not even an hour ago, and he realized he wanted to be sitting beside him instead of Shane, so he grabbed his crossbow and turned away, hating himself, and headed across the fields and into the forest.

Daryl was always at Rick’s side if he could help it. That hadn’t changed. And most days things were normal, but some days they weren’t. Some days, like this one, Rick wouldn’t be really paying attention to Daryl, his mind somewhere else, but his hand would move of its own accord, frequently finding its way to rest on Daryl’s shoulder, or sometimes it would gently press into the small of his back.

Some days were even more confusing, like the night Daryl had felt uncharacteristically bold in the face of intimacy and let Rick climb into his bed and curl up beside him.

And then there was the day he went looking for Merle, and came back with nothing but an even more reserved countenance. That night his feet took him down the stairs to Rick’s cell. Rick was climbing into bed, the covers thrown back, Judith already fast asleep in her crib. He looked up when Daryl stopped in the doorway. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Daryl looked down at the floor, his throat closing painfully. Neither of them spoke, but he heard the bed creak, the light footsteps on the cement floor. He saw Rick’s bare feet before Rick’s arms went around his waist and he buried his face in Daryl’s neck. Daryl sniffed and Rick lifted his head, dropping his arms and taking Daryl’s hand, and gently pulled him towards the bed. Rick lay down first, still holding Daryl’s hand, and Daryl stepped out of his shoes and climbed in, scooting all the way over until his back pressed into Rick’s stomach. With his free hand Rick reached up to pull the covers over them and settled in, their fingers still laced together and Rick’s arm going around Daryl’s waist. Daryl pulled Rick’s hand tight to his chest and swallowed painfully. Beside them, Judith sighed happily in her sleep. After a while, Rick drifted off, his chest rising and falling peacefully against Daryl’s back. Daryl slipped out then, prying his hand free and setting Rick’s arm down in the empty space where Daryl had been. He picked up his shoes and tiptoed out, going up the stairs to fall into his cold bed and bury his face in his pillow. Come morning, Rick said nothing about it, letting things fall back into their comfortable place, and Daryl followed his lead.

But things were still weird. A few days after all the Woodbury folk had settled in, before Rick built up the garden as his security blanket, four of them, Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Sasha, went out on a tracking mission. They drove to the spot of the Governor’s massacre, hopping out of the car, Daryl and Michonne leading the way along the weathered tire tracks from the army vehicles and far off into a field. They found dead walkers and divots in the ground, where Daryl guessed blankets or tents lay, but after that the trail was confusing, a shit ton of scuffling in the dirt, and two separate tracks leading in two separate directions.

“He would’ve gone alone,” Michonne said, crouching beside Daryl, where he knelt in the grass, eyeing the two pairs of footprints heading west. “If there was a fight, he’d make it, and he’d make it alone.” She pointed east, where the lone set of tracks headed into the woods.

Daryl nodded and stood, heading off in that direction with Michonne at his side and Rick and Sasha close behind. They searched until the sun started sinking below the tree line and they found nothing but a cold trail and dwindling hope.

“It’s getting late,” Sasha said. “We won’t find a thing out here in the dark.”

“Won’t find a damn thing anyway,” Daryl grunted, shaking his long hair out of his eyes and brushing dirt off his vest. “We’re days behind ‘im.”

“Think we should head back?” Sasha asked, putting a hand on her hip.

“Give us a minute,” Rick said, before Daryl could answer. He was watching Michonne, who was a little ways ahead of them, sitting on a log, her katana balanced on her knees, her face stoic. Sasha followed his gaze and nodded, setting her gun on the ground and sitting down cross-legged, pulling the water bottle out of her pack and taking a sip. Rick turned and walked back the way they came, his eyes looking like his mind was far away. Daryl hesitated for a second. He glanced from Rick to Sasha to Michonne, then fell into step behind Rick, jogging a little to catch up with him, his crossbow bouncing heavily on his back. Rick came to a stop, about twenty feet away from Sasha and Michonne, his hand resting like it always was on the grip of his gun holstered at his hip.

Daryl glanced up at him and Rick ran his fingers through his curly hair, his eyes on the trees in front of them.

“Think we’ll find him?” he asked quietly.

“Fat chance,” Daryl muttered.

“I know,” Rick sighed. “You gonna stop lookin’?”

“Hell no.”

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Rick asked after a moment.

“What is it?” Daryl shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

Rick looked at him finally, his eyes dark in the twilit shadows of the leaves. “What do we do if we find him?”

Daryl nodded slowly, inhaling through his nose, the sharp scent of pine needle pervading the cool air around them.

“He can’t live,” he said lowly.

“I know.” Rick lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will I be the one to do it?”

Daryl eyed Rick, Rick with his tired eyes and shaking hands. Daryl glanced behind his shoulder at Michonne, with her steady, practiced posture and stony expression. “Don’t think you’ll get the chance.”

“Yeah,” Rick murmured, closing his eyes and kneading the space between his eyebrows.

A flash of green on a nearby tree caught Daryl’s eye and he squinted in the fading light. He smiled and nudged Rick. “Hey, come look at this.”

He led Rick over, pointing at the triangle of green.

“What is that?” Rick bent down, looking at it curiously.

“A luna moth.” Daryl stooped over, holding out his forefinger in front of the moth. Its feathery antennae brushed over his skin, then it slowly climbed on, his finger tingling where its fuzzy feet clung on. He straightened up and held it up for Rick to see.

“See those little pink circles?” With his other hand, Daryl pointed them out, being careful not to touch the moth’s wings. “Those are called eyespots.” He held the moth up eyelevel, its furry white body and green wings trembling.

“They were sort of threatened for a while, since they’re sensitive to light pollution and all. But maybe they’re okay now, since there aren’t so many humans to kill ‘em off anymore.” He looked up at Rick, who was staring at him in a funny way, his lips twitching in a smile.

“What?” Daryl asked, the moth taking a few steps up to the tip of his finger.

“You just surprise me sometimes.”

Daryl’s face turned pink, and he knew Rick could see it, even in the dark woods, just by the way he was looking at him, Rick’s smile fading as his lips parted.

Daryl didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, just bent down and held his finger to the thick bark of the tree, the luna moth climbing off his fingertip and sticking back on to the tree.

Rick’s hand startled him; he flinched when Rick took his forearm and pulled him back up to face him. Daryl gulped, his pulse pounding in his ears, when Rick’s other hand cupped his cheek.

Rick was looking at him strangely again, in a way nobody had ever looked at him before, his blue eyes dark and deep like the night sky reflecting in choppy water. Rick’s tongue swiped along his own lower lip, and Daryl’s eyes widened and his lips parted to catch his breath.

“I,” Rick began, his voice so low and breathless that Daryl could barely hear it.

“Rick!” Sasha called, sounding distant, though they were only a little ways away. “Daryl!”

The moment was broken. Rick’s face steeled over and he let go, his hand moving from Daryl’s face to pull his pistol out of his holster.

“Sasha?” Rick called sharply, holding his gun in front of him with two hands, pulling the hammer back with his thumb, his forefinger hovering over the trigger.

Daryl shook his head, trying to clear it, and swung his crossbow around, pointing it down to snap the bow into place and secure an arrow. He lifted it up, letting out a shallow breath through his mouth.

Sasha and Michonne came bounding into view. Michonne’s katana was drawn and Sasha gripped her gun tightly. Rick and Daryl lowered their weapons.

“Big herd coming,” Michonne breathed, grabbing Rick’s arm and spinning him around.

“Shit!” Rick darted after Michonne, Sasha taking the lead and Daryl close at Rick’s heels. He glanced back once, shapes stumbling after them, high-pitched, agitated growls ripping through the breeze. A bright green moth fluttered by his ear, lighting over his hair and then up and away into the canopy of leaves.

They dashed through the field, leaping over the fallen walkers, the car close in sight. A snarl behind him sounded much closer than before, and Daryl glanced back. The herd was gaining on them, tripping over themselves in hunger and haste, and, out of the shadows of the trees now, he could see that it really was a big herd, more than twenty, maybe more than thirty.

Sasha and Michonne reached the car, and Sasha fumbled with her bag, digging the keys out. Rick got to the car before he did, spinning around, his hand grasping the empty space at his hip. His gun lay in the grass, a few feet behind and to Daryl’s right.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Daryl swore, and doubled back. He scooped up the gun. A walker, ahead of the herd, came down on him. Daryl shoved it away and it tripped, falling flat on its back, only to get up again, one arm dangling broken at its side. The walker crashed into him headlong, sending him to the ground and his crossbow out of reach, and grappling on top of him. Daryl struggled, trying to push it off. Its jaws opened wide, the rotted skin at the corners of its mouth splitting and stretching as it snapped at him.

A boot came swinging out of nowhere, kicking the walker’s skull with such force that it burst, spurting thick blood and deceased brain matter on Daryl’s face. He shoved the body off of him, snatched his crossbow off the ground, and took Rick’s hand. Rick dragged him to his feet and pulled him along to the car, the snarling herd close behind.

“You fucking idiot, why did you go back?” Rick shouted, his hand holding Daryl’s like a death grip as he dragged him to the car.

“You’re the one who dropped the fuckin’ gun!” Daryl shot back.

“Come on, come on!” Sasha shrieked, waving them over and dancing on her toes. She hopped into the passenger seat and rolled the manual window down, screaming “Move!” Michonne climbed into the front seat, slamming the door and starting the engine.

Rick flung the back door open and shoved Daryl onto the seat, scrambling in after him and slamming the door just as the herd closed in on them, two bloody walker fingers lying on the car floor and a bloody walker hand smearing the window outside.

Michonne stepped on the gas and they sped off, forty or sixty hands waving after them in the dust.

“That was fucking stupid,” Michonne said, her voice deathly quiet. The trees blurred by the windows on either side.

“I know,” Daryl snapped. He dropped the gun in Rick’s lap. “Here’s your fuckin’ gun.”

Rick ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply.

“You alright?” he asked breathlessly.

“Fine.” Daryl sighed. “You?”

Rick nodded, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes and pulled Daryl to his side, wrapping his arms around him tight enough that Daryl worried for the safety of his ribs.

Rick kissed his neck and then turned, his arms relaxing, resting his head on Daryl’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall closed again, breathing deeply. Without thinking Daryl reached up to brush his hand through Rick’s hair, thick and matted with sweat and dried blood.

Michonne caught his eye in the rearview mirror and Daryl looked away, dropping his hand and turning to look out the window without really seeing anything, his chest moving heavily with each ragged breath.

That was then, and this was now, with Rick’s arm around Daryl’s shoulders, and the two of them surveying the garden, Rick beaming and Daryl blushing.

Patrick came up to them, beckoning Carl over to the other side of the yard where some of the kids had found a large black snake, coiled up in the grass.

“Don’t touch it, it could be poisonous,” Rick said, moving to go with Carl and Patrick.

“I’ve got it,” Hershel said firmly, holding out Judith for Rick to take. Rick walked away from Daryl, his arm sliding off his shoulders, and took Judith from Hershel. He opened his mouth to argue, but Hershel shook his head. “You stay here and rest. You’ve done enough work protecting us all, you deserve a break.” He smiled. “Besides, I bet it’s just a black racer. They’ll bite if you bother ‘em, but they’ve got no venom.”

“Catch it,” Daryl said, grinning at Carl. “We can cook it.”

“No way,” Carl laughed, holding up his hands. “You can eat snake jerky if you want, but no way am I going to.”

He, Patrick, and Hershel went off towards the small crowd of kids on the other side of the yard. Carl and Patrick slowed their pace to walk beside Hershel, and as the three of them slowly walked away, Daryl could hear Hershel telling them about a time a tiny snake snuck into his barn and sent all his horses cowering to the corners of their stalls.

Rick grunted as he sat down. He set the Lil’ Asskicker in his lap, and she looked up at him with her sweet, round eyes that could break your heart, reaching out a little hand to pull on his beard.

Daryl hesitated for a second, then sat down beside him, stretching out his legs in front of himself. He plucked a blade of grass and fiddled with it, tearing off little pieces.

Judith leaned over to him, a tiny whine starting in her throat, chubby fingers grasping the air. Rick chuckled and passed her over, and when Daryl took her she cooed happily, her blue eyes, just like her dad’s, shining bright. He set her on his stomach and she bounced up and down, banging her little fists on his chest and pulling on his shirt collar. He smiled and lay back in the grass, folding his hand behind his head and looking up at the clear blue sky. He heard Rick shift beside him, wiggling a little closer and lying back, propped up on one elbow, his other arm reaching out to smooth a hand over Judith’s yellow hair.

“Things’re lookin’ up,” Rick said quietly.

Daryl squinted up at him in the sunlight. In the sunshine Rick looked younger, healthier, his skin tanned, light glinting off the tips of his curly hair. He gazed down at Daryl, the blue sky making his eyes look even bluer.

He wet his lips with his tongue and his hand slipped off Judith’s head, resting flat on Daryl’s abdomen, between the waist of his jeans and his belly button. Daryl breathed deeply, Judith rising with each inhale and exhale. She laughed, and her little fingers, wet with her own spit, smeared all over Daryl’s chest.

Rick leaned down and Daryl’s heart picked up, thumping in his chest with nerves and hope. This had been a long time coming, feelings between them muddled and confusing, starting for Rick when they came to the prison, but much further back for Daryl.

Rick closed his when he brushed his lips against Daryl’s, soft and just barely touching. He raised his head an inch, taking a measured breath, and came down again. The kiss was soft and strange. Rick kissed him slowly and sweetly, his beard scratching against Daryl’s face, his mouth catching Daryl’s lower lip when he lifted up to pull away, opening his eyes to stare down at him, his long fingers sneaking under Daryl’s shirt to trail over his skin.

“Daryl? You out here?”

Rick’s eyes closed for a moment in exasperation, then he sat up, his hand leaving an uncomfortable coldness on Daryl’s stomach.

Daryl sat up, his arm going around to cradle Judith to his chest. “Over here.”

Tyrese and Zach came down the dirt drive towards them, both with guns in their hands and Tyrese with backpack around his shoulders.

“Going on a supply run,” Tyrese said, coming to a stop a few feet away. “We need one more person. You in?”

Daryl glanced at Rick, who didn’t look at him, just reached out wordlessly to take Judith. She started to fuss and Rick held her close, tucking her head under his chin. She sniffled and started chewing on his shirt, leaving drool spots.

Daryl stood up and brushed himself off. He gave Rick one more glance, but Rick ignored him, kissing Judith on the top of the head, his face unreadable. Daryl turned back to Tyrese and Zach and nodded. “Lemme just grab my stuff.”

He wasn’t excited to return that night after the supply run, which had been pointless for the most part. They found a few canned goods, a package of batteries, and a couple unused candles, but nothing they really needed. Daryl wished he’d stayed, because he knew things wouldn’t be pretty when he got back. Either they’d be treading dangerous water and not speak to each other, or things would fall back into their normal place. Which was fine, Daryl thought bitterly, pushing open the C-Block door with a little too much force. He figured he deserved this, for letting himself hope, for thinking that it meant something, that day with Sasha and Michonne when they’d almost been overrun by the herd of walkers, when Rick had pulled him into a hug and put his lips on his neck and his head on his shoulder.

The barred door banged against the wall and Rick looked up when Daryl, Tyrese, and Zach entered. He was standing with Beth and Carol, Judith settled in his arms. His face was set and unsmiling and Daryl looked away, crossing his arms.

“Beth, could you?” he heard Rick say, his voice low and gruff.

“Sure,” came Beth’s response. Daryl glanced up. He saw Beth holding Judith, Judith crying and reaching for her dad, and Beth singing to her to calm her down. He saw Rick coming straight for him, his mouth set in a thin line. Daryl planted his feet firmly on the ground, ready for a fight, but that wasn’t what Rick had in mind.

“C’mere,” Rick growled, grabbing a fistful of Daryl’s grubby shirt and dragging him away. Daryl stumbled and followed Rick up the stairs, past his sleeping perch, and up another flight, the two of them tottering by the laundry hung out to dry over the railings. Rick dragged him into the shadows and spun around, pushing him roughly into the wall, Daryl’s back flush against the cold stone. Rick’s hand went around the back of Daryl’s neck, his fingers tangling in Daryl’s hair, and he pulled Daryl forward, his lips pressing on Daryl’s mouth with rushed desperation.

Rick’s arms slunk around Daryl’s waist, hands sliding down from his neck to his hips, slipping through the ripped fabric and thumbing over several scars. He grabbed Daryl by his shirt and pulled him closer, their warm stomachs pressed together, Rick’s heartbeat thumping against Daryl’s own chest. Rick’s hand, fisted in Daryl’s shirt, loosened, falling lower to clutch Daryl’s hip, two fingers slipping through a belt loop. Daryl pulled away to take a breath, blushing from ear to ear, but as soon as he did Rick pulled him right back, so intent on kissing him that their foreheads knocked painfully together. Rick swore but kept going, his hand moving again to the back of Daryl’s neck, yanking him down. Their mouths met, with teeth clicking and scraping. Rick kissed with such intensity, his tongue slipping in between Daryl’s teeth to lick every inch of his mouth. And when Rick kissed him his hands never stayed in one place; they ran up and down Daryl’s arms, cupping his cheek, knotting in his hair to pull him closer, sneaking under his shirt and skimming along scarred skin to scrape his fingernails over the small of his back, his fingertips leaving goose bumps in their wake. His whole body moved; with one knee he nudged Daryl’s legs apart and pressed up against him, grinding his hips on Daryl’s thigh and breaking away from his mouth to breathe in Daryl’s ear, a long exhale of warm air, a hot and sticky “ah” that seemed to travel down his ear canal and into his brain, making everything humid and hazy.

Rick moved his fingers; they made their way from Daryl’s back to the pale stripe of skin visible below Daryl’s shirt and came to a halt at the fly of his jeans, hooking there, his fingers cold against Daryl’s flushed skin. Rick broke away from him and their mouths parted with a small, wet sound, and Rick rested his forehead on Daryl’s shoulder, taking stuttering breaths. His fingers wormed a little deeper under the waist of Daryl’s jeans. Rick moved one hand up to brush through Daryl’s hair, tucking one sweaty piece behind Daryl’s ear. He left that hand there, cupping the back of Daryl’s neck, and the other hand stayed down south, making Daryl sweat and turn beet red. He felt like a teenager, so shy and unsure, uncomfortably hard and his underwear already damp.

Rick’s fingers burrowed just a bit more, while his thumb grazed from the button to the end of the zipper. Daryl swallowed thickly; he was sure Rick could feel it, Daryl’s need apparent through the hardness beneath his jeans.

Rick lifted his head, eyes wide and dark and pupils dilated. He was breathing deeply and his fingers wiggled under Daryl’s hem again, silently asking for permission. Daryl looked down at his jeans and Rick kissed his neck, making his way further up, where his warm breath hushed out through his nose and into Daryl’s ear, strange and uncomfortable but not awful. Daryl wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead, his hands trembling, and attempted to unbuckle his belt.

Rick grazed his teeth along the shell of Daryl’s ear, nipping at him, and then moved up, pressing a contradictory gentle and sweet kiss into his temple. Daryl felt a shiver run down his spine. He tried to focus on his belt, which didn’t seem to want to come undone, while his hands shook and he blinked several times, the fog of hazy desire in his brain making it hard to accomplish a simple task. Finally, with an impatient grumble, moving his face away from Daryl’s and pressing his forehead against Daryl’s chest to get a better view, Rick pushed Daryl’s hands away and did it himself, easily unlooping the belt and undoing his fly, slipping the button through the buttonhole and unzipping the zipper. He pulled Daryl’s jeans down, his breath hitching at Daryl’s arousal, showing through the thin fabric of his briefs.

Rick eyed Daryl once more, meeting his gaze and raising his eyebrows. Daryl nodded, closing his eyes and breathing deeply in and out through his nose. Rick went down on his knees and pulled Daryl’s briefs down and around his ankles. Rick’s hands went to Daryl’s hips, gently, his thumbs rubbing smooth circles into Daryl’s hip bones. Daryl put his head back against the wall, his pulse pounding in his ears and his face heating up, eyes still closed and chest heaving. He jerked when Rick’s mouth came around him, colder than his heated skin, but Rick tightened his grip on Daryl’s hips, holding him steady as he came down again.

Daryl let out a quiet, choked noise, a squeaky “oh” as Rick ran his tongue up the length of his cock. He opened his eyes wide, heard the blood pumping in his ears as Rick bobbed his head below him. Daryl found he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; they hung awkwardly at his sides, both clenched in fists. He reached up, resting one on Rick’s shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch as he pulled Daryl deeper into his mouth. The other hand Daryl placed on top of Rick’s head, kneading his fingers into Rick’s thick hair.

Daryl bit his lip, trying to hold in moans that rose at the back of his throat. The sounds of the others a floor below floated up to them. Over the damp sounds of Rick sucking him off and the loud pounding in his ears he heard Carl’s voice, answered by Hershel, and a distant giggle, probably from Lizzie or Mika. Beth was still singing to Judith, her soft voice making the Johnny Cash song sound less hurtful and more like a lullaby. A soft groan from Rick brought him back and blocked out all else, and Daryl looked down, watching Rick moving in dizzying rhythm.

Daryl pulled Rick closer. He moaned lowly, the sound echoing off the thick walls, when his cock ground against the back of Rick’s throat, and Rick choked a little, pinching Daryl’s side. Daryl loosened his grip, and all of a sudden Rick was pulling away with a wet smacking sound.

“Sorry,” Daryl mumbled, thinking he’d done something wrong. Rick shook his head and bent down, pulling Daryl’s pants and underwear up.

“Someone’s comin’,” he whispered, struggling to slide Daryl’s briefs up his front. Daryl swore under his breath and reached down to help, frantically pulling his pants back up as the small steps drew closer. Carl came in to view seconds after Rick stood up, wiping the side of his mouth, Daryl’s belt still hanging undone.

“Dad?” Carl asked, his hand automatically going to the empty space at his hip, looking just like his old man in that moment.

Carl stepped closer. “I thought I heard some scuffling, I thought you were in trouble.” He gazed from Rick to Daryl, a frown etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

Rick smoothed his hair down. He came out of the shadows and put an arm around Carl’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Carl. Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Carl nodded, his small, just barely present Adam’s apple bobbing when he gulped.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said quietly, his voice quivering.

“S’alright. Everything’s fine.” Daryl heard the crack in Rick’s voice, and he tactfully turned away, focusing on fixing his belt and rumpled shirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rick grip Carl’s shoulder and Carl nod again, the sheriff’s hat slipping down his forehead.

“C’mon.” Rick gently tugged Carl to his side. “Let’s go check up on Judith, hm?” Together they walked down the stairs, Carl wiping his eyes and leaning against Rick.

Daryl stayed put, his feet unable to move. He leaned against the railing, his forearms pressing into the cool metal, and looked down. Carl held Judith now, slowly rocking her to sleep, and Beth stood in front of them, still singing softly, Judith’s little hand holding tight to Beth’s finger. Rick, his hand on Carl’s shoulder, glanced up, his eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moment. He blinked, then slowly turned away as Beth’s voice floated up to him, gentle and sweet.


	5. Providing Directions to a Lost Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daryl goes missing, and Rick takes it upon himself to bring him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the wait! But, on the plus side, this chapter is about 9k and the story earns its rating (in terms of sexual content). So thank you to everyone who left a comment and kudos, again I'm sorry it took so long, and on with the show.

The summer sun beat down on the back of his neck, reddening and blistering his skin. Rick swatted a fly away from his face and tipped the bucket over the trough, pouring in fresh water. Violet and her three piglets immediately came over, the piglets squealing and pushing each other. He patted Violet’s thick side and she glanced up at him, her snout dripping with water, then dipped her head back down again.

He stood and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He swung open the gate to the pig pen, nudging a piglet, the littlest and rowdiest one, gently aside with his foot when it tried to slip between his legs, and closed the gate, the piglet giving an indignant snort and trotting around the pen.

He started over to the nearest garden, tomatoes and green beans, turning when he heard a car roar to life, raising his hand to shield his eyes against the bright sunlight of the afternoon. Far up the hill in their makeshift driveway Zach stood in front of his car. Zach had been tinkering around under the propped up hood, but now he straightened, tucking a rag into his pocket and doing a little victory dance. The car shut off and Daryl climbed out, grinning, and passed Zach the keys.

He seemed to feel Rick’s gaze and looked up, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. He turned away sharply and Rick could almost see Daryl ducking under the shaggy strings of his hair, his face turning pink, even though Daryl was too far away for Rick to make out more than his blurry figure.

He lowered his gaze and went back to his gardening.

It was stupid, Rick thought, kneeling down and pulling up a weed a little too harshly. Great clumps of dirt clung to the wiry roots and dangled in front of him, reaching back down toward the ground, a hole in the soil where the weed had been. He picked the clumps off and shoved them back in, then tossed the weed into the grass behind him.

The whole thing was stupid. Rick uprooted another weed and gave it glare.

It was the end of the world, and, though in their domesticated bliss at the prison he forgot for a fleeting moment or two, any one of them could die any day. But he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking of Daryl hot and heavy in his mouth, sweaty and blushing beneath his hands.

And mother fucking Daryl, so goddamn stubborn. Rick yanked out a weed and threw it over his shoulder, grumbling to himself.

Mother fucking Daryl, who had disappeared after their tryst two nights ago, after Rick had put Judith to bed and reassured Carl that he was fine. Daryl, who had disappeared when Rick went to find him, who had skirted around Rick the next morning, hugging his crossbow tight to his chest and fleeing the prison before Rick could reach out to him. And he somehow managed to evade Rick as of now; the few times Rick found him he would be a flash of shy redneck shrinking around a corner, like he sensed Rick tracking him down, or he would be far off, a good twenty feet away and getting further each time Rick drew closer.

Rick sat up, tossing another clump of weeds and soil onto the grass behind him, and rested his grubby hands on his thighs, sighing in exasperation.

He wanted to be pissed at Daryl. But mostly he was annoyed with himself. He couldn’t be mad at Daryl for avoiding him, or, he could, but it’d do no good harping on it because that was just the way Daryl was. And it wasn’t Daryl’s fault. Rick was the one who started this. Daryl hadn’t acted on his feelings, maybe out of courtesy to Rick or maybe because he wasn’t the type to start anything like whatever the hell was going on. He hadn’t even done anything after Lori –

Rick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t do any good thinking about it.

He steeled himself and stood, his knees giving feeble creaks, the product of age and improperly healed injuries. He scooped up the plucked weeds and brought them around the back of the pig pen to the compost, which Hershel had showed him how to start. After dumping the weeds in the pile of potato skins and carrot stems, Rick looked around at the little gardens, smiling slightly.

For the most part they were his gardens. The vegetables – tomatoes, green beans, carrots, potatoes, and beets now – were shared with everyone, and the pigs would be raised to feed everyone, but Rick’s job was almost exclusively being the farmer. He enlisted a reluctant Carl to help him, in an attempt to pull his son away from the grit of being a protector and a gunman, like Hershel had done for Rick. Hershel frequently came out to help, too, or supervise, sometimes accompanied by Beth and on occasion by Maggie as well. But for the most part this was Rick’s sole job. He hadn’t wanted it at first, but now, now it was nice to step back, to stash his and Carl’s guns away and be confident that Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and the others could handle things. It was easier this way. He could focus on being a father, the father that his kids desperately needed.

Retrieving the water bucket from the pig pen, Rick headed up the dirt driveway and to the prison, purposefully taking the long way and looping around the cars when he got there. But Daryl and Zach had gone already, and Rick tried not to look too disappointed as he made his way in to the prison, stashing the water bucket in its proper place, on a shelf just outside of C-Block with the rest of the few garden tools the others – mostly just Daryl and Michonne – had collected on supply runs.

He went through the cell door, which was always open during the day and locked up at night as a precautionary measure, nodding to Carol, who was seated at the table, wringing her hands together, shoulders hunched over, reminding him of Daryl, the way they both held themselves together seemingly by strings, constantly on edge over past pains, but always still and stoic in the face of hardship, because they were used to it, both built from the same mold, both made of sterner stuff.

She got up when Rick entered, pushing her chair back with a clatter and darting over to him.

“Daryl with you?” she asked quickly. Rick met her eyes, his narrowing warily.

“No, he ain’t.”

Carol bit her lip. “Did you see him?”

“A little while ago, out by the cars with Zach.” Rick paused. “Why, is he missin’?”

“I’m not sure,” Carol admitted, her voice edged with worry. “Zach came in about an hour ago, but he said Daryl had gone to find you.” She gave him a once over, like Daryl was going to suddenly peek out of his pocket.

Rick ran his fingers through his hair, his heartbeat quickening.

“He must’ve gotten caught up doin’ somethin’ else,” he said reassuringly, trying to smooth over Carol as well as himself. Daryl was fine. He was probably off somewhere on his own. They didn’t need to worry about Daryl; he could take care of himself.

But Rick couldn’t push away the nagging feeling in his gut, the anxiety creeping up his spine. “I’ll go look for him.”

She smiled gratefully and reached out to grip his wrist with her right hand, small but strong, to stop him when he turned to go.

“Take this with you.” With her left hand she held out her own gun. Rick stared down at it, then up at Carol.

“I don’t –” he started to say weakly.

“Please.” She turned his hand over and pressed the gun into his palm, her other hand smoothing over the pistol, a Colt Detective Special, her thin fingers brushing against the inside of his wrist. “Just in case.”

Rick glanced down again. Carol’s right hand loosened around his wrist, sliding down to cup the back of his hand, both of her hands curling his fingers around the gun.

“You know him, he goes far out sometimes.” She gazed at him until he looked up. “Rick? Just in case, okay?”

Rick nodded and Carol smiled, letting go of his hand, and when her touch was gone the gun felt heavier and colder.

“I’ll keep an eye on Carl and Judith,” she said, reaching up to pat his upper arm, her hand steady and warm, comforting.

“Thank you.”

Carol nodded, watching him as he turned and walked out of C-Block. Outside the barred door and out of view, blocked by the thick cement walls, Rick stopped and looked down at the gun in his hand. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the familiar grooves of the cylinder and the smooth, cool metal of the barrel. His hand trembled and, feeling embarrassed though no one was there to see, he moved to holster it, then remembered and stuck it in his pocket.

Rick searched D Block first, spotting Tyreese and Karen by the door and asking them whether they’d seen Daryl. Neither of them had since that morning, and Tyreese eyed Rick anxiously.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice lowering in concern.

“Yeah, he probably just wandered off somewhere.” Rick gave him a forced smile.

He went on through the cell block, slowing when he spotted Carl and Patrick sitting on the stairs together, Patrick flipping through a storybook and Carl slouched over with his sheriff’s hat on his knees, flicking bits of dirt off the brim and looking rather bored. He glanced up when Rick stopped beside him, leaning over the rail to smooth a hand over his son’s hair, which was getting a little long. Lori had always been the one to cut Carl’s hair, and the last time Rick suggested a trim Carl had snapped at him and stalked off angry and teary-eyed. Rick pushed that thought away before the familiar lump could rise in his throat.

“Either of you seen Daryl recently?”

“No, sir,” Patrick said, shaking his head. His glasses slid a fraction of an inch down his nose with the movement and he pushed them back into place.

“Are you looking for him?” Carl sat up straight.

“Yeah, he’s outside somewhere, I bet.”

“Can I come with you?” Carl asked eagerly. Rick smiled at him and tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear. Carl grimaced and batted his hand away.

“Nah, you stay here with Patrick. I won’t be long.” He pushed himself off the rail.

“But what if you have to go outside the fence?” Carl crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll need backup.”

“Daryl’ll back me up.”

“But what if you haven’t found him yet, and you run into trouble?” Carl pressed.

Rick shook his head wearily. He had to give Carl credit: he was a good negotiator. And Rick felt bad, guilty, for taking away his gun and his sense of responsibility, things Rick had bestowed on him in the first place, telling him and showing him that Rick trusted him and treated him like an adult. But things weren’t like that anymore. Not now. They had the prison, they had stability. Rick needed to take a step back, and he was going to stick by his decision to make his son take that step with him. He wasn’t going to sacrifice what was left of Carl’s childhood, not again.

“I can take care of it,” he said firmly. Carl opened his mouth, his brow creasing in frustration. Rick shook his head. “No more. I want you to stay here.”

Carl’s face fell, his blue eyes brimming, and he turned away, glaring at the floor. Beside him, Patrick looked nervously from father to son, then lifted up his book, holding it close to his face, not really reading, his eyes fixed widely on one word.

“I’ll hurry back,” Rick offered quietly. Carl shrugged, still glaring at the floor. Rick felt a pang in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Eyes still on the floor and full of contempt, Carl muttered, “Of course you are.”

Rick looked at him a moment longer, his throat closing with hurt and self-depreciation. He wanted to reach out and hug his son, but knew that would only serve to push him further away, so he nodded, mostly to indurate himself, and left, heading out of D-Block and glancing back once to see Carl put on his hat and pull it low over his eyes, Patrick reaching out to pat him on the back.

He found no sign of Daryl in the rest of the prison – no one in B-Block had seen him and Rick looked up and down the hallways, peeking around corners where he might find him sulking, but came up with nothing. He passed A-Block, pausing to peer into the dim dungeon of death row, but he found it deserted; nobody used A-Block for anything, an unspoken agreement between all of them to avoid it.

He exited the prison through their main entrance, passing the outdoor kitchen and nodding at Sasha and Chloe, who were rinsing dishes and waved when he walked by. Rick glanced over at the cars, noting that Daryl’s motorcycle was still parked. He continued on down the driveway, eyes roving around the yard. The gardens were empty, but he didn’t expect him to be there; Daryl tended to ignore them unless Rick was around. He glanced up at the watch tower, squinting to make out Glenn’s form. Maggie and Charlie were at the fence, chatting and stowing away a couple fence weapons. They both turned around, stiffening and gripping their guns defensively, at the sound of something coming through the woods. Rick hurried over to them, his hand ghosting over Carol’s gun in his pocket.

The three of them relaxed when Michonne emerged, riding Flame, their found horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand, the other resting on her thigh, her katana faithfully strung across her back. Maggie rushed to pull the cable to the gate and Michonne rode up to them, the gate of the inner fence already opened earlier by Maggie and Charlie.

“Any luck?” Maggie asked, shielding her eyes against the sun to look up at Michonne.

Michonne grinned and swung one leg over Flame, ignoring Charlie’s offered hand and hopping down gracefully. She unbuckled the saddlebag and reached inside, pulling out a half-full box of rounds, two torn comic books, a gardening trowel, and a packet of peanut M&M’s.

“Wouldn’t believe it but I found all these in one place,” she said, grinning, handing the ammo to Maggie and holding out the trowel to Rick. He took it, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Knowing you, I don’t doubt it,” Maggie laughed. “Where’d you go?”

“A tavern,” Michonne said in an atrocious British accent, tipping her invisible hat off to Maggie.

“Figures,” Rick chuckled. Michonne shrugged at him, tucking the comic books under her arm and tearing the M&M’s package, shaking some out in her hand and offering it to Rick. He took one and rolled it between his fingers, while Michonne tossed one into her mouth.

“Find any X-Men?” Rick asked, nodding at the comics, popping the M&M into his mouth.

“Mhmm, that and Wonder Woman.”

“Good. I think Carl needs them today,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

Michonne’s brow creased in concern. “Is he okay?”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“What’d you do?” Michonne asked.

“I didn’t want him to go outside the fence with me. Figured he’d be better off in here.”

Maggie looked at him questioningly. “Why do you have to go outside?”

Rick turned the trowel over in his hands, taking a moment before he answered, his voice measured and slow, trying not to let the hint of anxiety seep in. “Daryl’s gone missin’, apparently. You see him?”

Maggie shook her head and Michonne raised her eyebrows, asking, “You sure he’s not off in the woods? Wouldn’t be unlike him to wander.”

“Carol’s worried,” Rick said, and Michonne gave a slight nod, like that explained why Rick was looking.

“Did he say he was goin’ somewhere?” Maggie asked, her voice pitching a little in worry. Rick shook his head.

“You need help lookin’?” Charlie piped up. Rick gave him a once over, and then shook his head again, plastering a smile on his face.

“He’s probably just off in the woods somewhere, like you said.” He inclined his head to Michonne. She narrowed her eyes at him, seeing through his faux calm, sharp and intuitive as she always was.

“And you’re going out there alone?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ll be fine.” Rick eyed her defensively.

Michonne gazed at him for a long pause, the suspicion in her face melting away into something like pity or concern. He looked away.

“Okay,” she said finally. When he didn’t meet her gaze, she touched his forearm lightly, her hands callused and rough, but surprisingly soft and gentle. Rick glanced up and she smiled, tiny and rare, and when she spoke her tone was lighter, teasing. “I’ll bring these to Carl, smooth over the mess you made.”

He gave her a thankful smile and she patted his arm, her hand slipping away as she gripped Flame’s reins, clicking her tongue and leading him over to the stable. Rick watched her go, then turned to Maggie and Charlie.

“I’d better go out now,” he said.

“You sure you don’t want help?” Maggie asked softly.

“I’ll be alright.” He slid the trowel into his empty pocket.

She nodded. “I’ll be here on watch for another hour, before Sasha comes to take over.”

“I’ll try and be back soon.” He smiled at her, patted Charlie’s shoulder, and headed through the inner gate, stopping as Maggie pulled the cable and the outer gate slowly swung open, and Rick passed through the fence, outside the safety of the prison for the first time in a little over a month.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder as the gate creaked closed, and then looked around, taking everything in. Not a walker was in sight; Maggie and Charlie had taken care of the six or so pushing at the fence.

The breeze rustled his hair, light and warm. He heard nothing but the low sigh of the wind through the trees, birds chirping high up and unseen in the branches, and the slow hum of the annual cicadas. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and took a step, dirt crunching under his boot. He took another step. He told himself to breathe, to buck up, and forced himself to walk slowly forward, away from the thick walls of the prison and down the dirt road, passing under the shadow of the trees and into the wide open wood.

In the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white, and he snapped around, his heart hammering. Pristine fabric trailed behind a tree, making no noise as it passed over dead leaves, and a whisper came to him, catching the whirls of the wind and whistling by his ears.

 _Rick_.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before he turned away, lowering his trembling hand to his right pants pocket, his fingers brushing over the handle of Carol’s gun. He pressed on, ignoring the faint call from behind, knowing it was nothing but an apparition.

It was easier inside the prison. He used to see her all the time, around corners, up in the watch tower, standing and smiling at her own grave. But now, with the prison full of survivors, fifty or more faces for him to focus on, it was easier. It was easier with Carl to worry about and Judith to care for, with Hershel guiding him towards a simpler life, with the gardens and the animals to worry about, with the council taking over his old job. He had lost himself in the simplicity of it all, stowing away his gun and so forgetting Lori and their turbulence of the past year. But here, on his own, in the woods, with a loaded gun, it came back in fragments.

 _Keep goin’_ , he told himself. He scanned the trees in front of him, veering off the road and heading into the brush, because Daryl wasn’t the type of person to stick to the safety of a well-worn trail.

A twig snapped under his foot and he chuckled to himself, knowing what Daryl would say if he was here, most likely something along the lines of “You’re gonna scare away all the game, fuckin’ feet so loud”, most likely grumbled in disgruntlement, and most likely followed by a begrudging smile.

Rick tried to follow Daryl’s instruction, given to him in precious bits and pieces over each trek they took together. _Stay quiet._ He avoided branches and leaves that would snap and crumble, opting instead for patches of dirt and staying on his toes. _Watch from every angle._ He glanced around, checking behind his shoulder, the quiet woods almost too peaceful, too tranquil and undisturbed. _Don’t leave an easy trail._ He tried not to step in mud or soft dirt, preferring rocks and roots and hard ground. _Keep an eye out for anything out a’ the ordinary._ He crouched down, squinting at a bush, a stripe of dark red still shiny and wet streaked across one leaf like a warning sign.

He stood slowly, pivoting around to scour his surroundings.

Faintly, he heard something. He strained his ears, his fingers wrapping around Carol’s pistol. Through the sounds of the cicadas and scurrying of little critters he heard a low, noshing sound, quiet but not far off. He let out a silent breath and crept back towards the road, following the grumbles. On the shoulder of the road, he peered around a tree, narrowing his eyes. Across the road and about two yards into the forest he saw a cluster of walkers – he counted five, bent over a stationary shape, and he heard the sickening sound of them gorging on raw meat. He inhaled sharply at the sight of the body beneath them, legs bent at an awkward angle, cargo pants torn at the knees. The smell of rotting flesh floated over to him and he scrunched up his nose in disgust. Another shape caught his eye, lying forgotten at the dead man’s feet.

It was a crossbow, familiar worn edges Rick had held before, a green and white feathered arrow still loaded into place.

Rick covered his hand with his mouth, holding back the sob that rose from the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly and lowered his hand, his whole body shaking as he took a silent step out into the open.

It wasn’t – it couldn’t – something was off, something was wrong. There had to be something he was missing. There _had_ to be. This was a trick, some sick joke. Any second and he would sit up, perfectly fine, grinning at Rick from ear to ear. This wasn’t happening; this _couldn’t_ be happening; this had to be another hallucination.

Rick inhaled again and the smell of death hit him like a freight train, full in the face and all too real, the sting of salty blood and acrid excrement.

Trembling all over, his heart hammering at top speed, he took another step, standing on the side of the road now. All he could see were the legs and the walkers surrounding, a big, thick, oak tree blocking the head and torso. He had to know. He couldn’t turn away and vomit, like his stomach was telling him to do. He had to see; he had to know.

He side stepped, dirt crunching underneath his feet, until the scene was in full view, until the body was displayed gruesomely for him, the arms spread eagled and the walkers all crowding around the stomach, pushing each other, a long roll of intestine being tugged back and forth by two of them. He got a good look at the face, scruffy blond hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide and brown and open in shock, a sizeable chunk missing from his cheek, his nose small and button-like, face young and round and decidedly not Daryl.

Rick took a step back, clutching his stomach, eyes blurring in a powerful wave of relief. This feeling was quickly followed by confusion and panic. That was Daryl’s crossbow; he was sure of it. Which meant Daryl was in trouble, either wandering around in the woods without his weapon or worse. A shiver ran down his spine and he took another step back, his heel landing on a stick, the sharp crack followed by a moment of horrible silence.

One by one the walkers looked up at him. The closest one, a middle-aged woman with blueish skin, stared at him with her milky, dissolving eyes, red entrails hanging from her mouth like spaghetti.

“Fuck,” Rick breathed.

The walker stood, meat falling from her mouth as it opened in a feral snarl. She started stumbling towards him, and the other walkers followed, their arms grabbing for him as their broken feet struggled to close the distance, hungry groans ripping their gray lips open.

Rick spun around and dashed back into the forest, leaping over a fallen log, branches whipping by, stinging his cheeks and arms. Behind him he could hear the walkers, the staggered thumps as they fell over the log, the growls as they rose like puppets to their feet and pursued. He glanced back and they were gaining on him, shoving one another in their haste.

He spun back around, tripping over a root and landing hard on his hands and knees. He pushed himself up, hands burning with the impact, and barreled on, knowing he’d have to hide somewhere or turn and face them soon, with the snarls growing closer each second.

A couple yards ahead he spotted a large boulder and he sprinted for it, going around the left side and skidding to a stop. He leaned back against the moss covered rock, panting. The growls were loud, right on the other side of the boulder and Rick took a deep breath, ready to face the horde, when he heard something come crashing through the woods.

Rick darted out, breathing hard, hand going down, skipping over the gun to pull the trowel out of his pocket, and his eyes widened.

Daryl dashed through the trees from the right, running headlong into a walker, his hunting knife stabbing its soft skull in a fraction of a second, blood spurting through the air in an arc and splattering his face as he yanked the blade out, the walker collapsing at his feet. He turned to face Rick, his blue eyes wide and rimmed with dirt and blood.

“Rick!” he shouted. He spun back around as a second walker closed in on him.

Rick whirled around as a walker lunged at him from the left. He jumped back from its rotted hand, swiping inches by his face, close enough to see its discolored skin swinging precariously from its fingers and the sharp, yellow bones protruding at its fingertips. On the edge of his vison he saw Daryl, cutting through his walker’s skull and kicking it back as another came onto him.

Another walker was close behind the one coming at Rick, its blackened teeth snapping. Without thinking, his hand tightened around the handle of the trowel and he pulled his arm back, gathering momentum and jabbing forward to stick the tool through the walker’s forehead.

Its arms fell slack and its mouth hung open mid-roar. The other walker was inches in front of him and he tugged at the trowel, which stayed firmly stuck in the dead walker’s skull. The other walker’s arms were around Rick and the dead walker now, its head leaning over the dead one’s shoulder as it snarled at Rick. With all his might he shoved the putrid body, the trowel slipping from his grasp with the dead walker. The other walker stumbled back as the dead one hit the ground, then came forward again, its arms outstretched.

Rick gave a wild yell and leaped forward, pulling out Carol’s pistol and bashing the walker with the butt of the gun. It fell to the ground, a dent in its skull, and raised its hands, snarling and trying to grab at him. With adrenaline pumping in his veins he drove his foot down, the skull crunching under his heel with a sickening sound, gray brain matter spattering all over the forest floor.

Rick snapped his head up when he heard another groan, his heart stopping at the sight of Daryl with his back pressed up against a tree, his face scrunched up with the effort of trying to throw off a walker, the woman, his hands closing around her neck, his knife embedded in her chest, her hands grabbing at his vest.

Rick tripped forward the short distance between them and grabbed the back of walker’s torn shirt with his left hand, pulling her off and bashing the butt of the gun on the top of her head with his right hand. The walker gave an inhuman wail and it fell to the ground, a split in its skull and chunks of brain sticking to the gun.

Rick and Daryl both stared down at the walker, breathing hard, then looked up at each other. Rick pitched forward just as Daryl did, wrapping his arms around Daryl and burying his face in his neck, a sob escaping his throat. Daryl’s arms went around him tight, tight enough to make it hard to breath. He made no sound but his arms shook and he pressed his face into Rick’s shoulder, warm wetness spreading through Rick’s shirt.

Daryl pulled away first, his arms dropping as he took a step back, hiding his face under his shaggy hair and raising a hand to wipe his eyes.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff and guarded. He looked up, the dirt and blood on his cheeks smudged from tear tracks and rubbing.

Risk, about to take a step and reach out to him, froze. He felt his temper rising, bubbling up with the remaining adrenaline.

“Lookin’ for you,” he growled, shoving the gun into his pocket.

“Well you found me. So you can go back to your gardenin’ now,” Daryl growled back. Rick bristled.

“If I hadn’t a’ shown up –” he began heatedly.

“If you hadn’t a’ shown up I’d be just fine!” Daryl snapped.

“Oh yeah?” Rick barked out a cold laugh. “You’d be just fine? Where’s your crossbow? How’d you’ve taken down all these with just a knife?” He gestured at the bodies angrily.

Daryl flinched. “I – misplaced it,” he grumbled.

“No you didn’t,” Rick said heatedly. “You ran in to trouble with someone, and they took it, and you woulda been all alone out here if I didn’t come lookin’ for you!”

“What the hell’d you do anyway? You and you’re fuckin’ –” Daryl let out an agitated breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “The fuck is that thin’ anyway?”

Rick glanced around, his eyes lighting over the garden tool sticking out of the walker’s skull. He glared back up at Daryl. “A trowel.”

Daryl blinked at him. “Huh?”

“A trowel.” Rick sighed when Daryl narrowed his eyes. “S’a shovel you use for gardenin’.”

“Unbelievable,” Daryl snorted. “Saved by a fuckin’ garden tool.”

Rick crossed his arms. “What happened to your crossbow?”

Daryl shrugged, kicking at the ground. “Where’d you get that?” He glared pointedly at the trowel.

Rick shook his head. “No. I asked first and my question’s more pressin’.”

Daryl glared at the ground in irritation. “I don’t know. Just lost it. Some guy must’ve picked it up.”

“You lost it?” Rick repeated. “And I didn’t say it was a guy who found it.”

Daryl’s back stiffened defensively and he let out frustrated sigh. “I don’t know, okay? I just – I wasn’t thinkin’, wasn’t payin’ attention. I just –” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but Rick.

Rick ran a hand over his face and took a calming breath. “Just tell me what happened, okay? You can skip over the why if you want, but just tell me what happened.”

Rick took another measured breath when Daryl said nothing. He sighed and figured he’d start, calmly this time, so Daryl wouldn’t wall himself off again.

“I saw the guy,” he began. “Dead. These guys –” He looked around at the fetid bodies. “– Were knawin’ on him.” He paused, tilting his head as he looked at Daryl, waiting for something. Daryl’s eyes darted up for a split second, but he said nothing, so Rick went on. “I saw your crossbow before I saw his face and I thought –” He choked on the last word and looked down at his feet, his hand coming up out of habit to pinch the space between his eyes.

When he raised his face back up Daryl was looking at him, some emotion making his bottom lip tremble and his eyes water. Rick’s eyes brimmed with tears and he reached out. Daryl shook his head sharply and took a step back, his hands coming out of his pockets and his arms going around his middle to hug himself tight. Something in Rick’s heart broke at the sight and he felt a tear slip out of the corner of his eye to slowly roll down his cheek, disappearing when it reached his beard. He wanted to pull Daryl to his chest and kiss him over and over, but instead he let his hand drop, reaching to pull the gun back out like it was what he meant to down, and focused on wiping it clean on his jeans and trying not to cry.

“That’s Carol’s.” Rick looked up when Daryl spoke. His arm were still around his stomach, like he was attempting to hold himself together, and his eyes were rimmed with red, but his voice was steady.

“Yeah.” Rick paused, then held it out, handle first, his fingers wrapped around the barrel. If it belonged with anyone but Carol, it belonged with him. Daryl stared at it for a moment, then shook his head. Rick slipped the pistol back into his pocket and waited for Daryl to speak. When he didn’t, he bent over the walker, her tangled hair spread around her decaying face, and put a foot on its shoulder, gripping the handle of Daryl’s knife and pulling it out with a squelch. He wiped off the dark blood on the walker’s blouse and straightened. Daryl watched him but made no move to take his knife, so Rick stood there awkwardly, the knife heavy in his hand, unsure what to do with it. He hesitated a moment, then turned away, stepping over a walker body to come to the one laying in a curled up heap, it’s grotesque face staring up at nothing, the trowel pointing to the sky.

He set the knife on the ground and gripped the trowel, tugging at it, but succeeded only in tearing the skin at the walker’s neck. He put his foot on the skull, bracing himself, and tugged again. The metal grated against the bone, making him cringe, but stayed put, the scoop firmly stuck in place. He grunted and gripped the handle with both hands, pulling with what was left of his strength until the trowel finally sprung loose, sending him stumbling back with the momentum. He regained his footing and bent down to wipe the trowel off on the walker’s shirt, then stuck it in his pocket and picked up Daryl’s knife.

When he turned back around Daryl was eyeing him, his grip around himself loosening and his lips twitching in the hint of a smile. He looked away when Rick met his gaze, shutting Rick out again, but Rick stepped forward with determination. He hadn’t missed that tiny, almost-smile, and he wasn’t going to let it disappear, not if he could help it.

He came right up to Daryl, ignoring the guarded look he received, and put one hand on Daryl’s side to hold him still, slipping the knife in the sheath at Daryl’s belt with the other. He patted the knife and took a step back, letting both his hands drop to his sides. Daryl’s lips twitched again and he fought the smile down, giving Rick a scowl and moving his arms up to cross them over his chest.

Rick tilted his head to the side slightly, raising his eyebrows, waiting for Daryl to speak. Daryl’s mouth tugged at the corner and he reached down to touch the hilt of his knife.

Finally, he mumbled, “I ran in to someone.”

Rick waited for him to continue.

“He was out here alone.” Daryl’s voice was quiet, almost too low to hear, and all traces of amusement had gone from his face. “I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly, wasn’t on guard, and he found me, put a gun to my head ‘fore I could do anythin’.” He toed the walker at their feet, grimacing. “He asked me if I had any food on me. He got mad when I said I didn’t. He wasn’t right, up here.” He pointed to his own forehead. “Must’ve been out here alone for days, no food or water. He started attackin’ me, broke the strap on my bow, an’ I ran, figurin’ I’d double back an’ get the jump on him when he wasn’t lookin’, but he fired after me. Missed, but the shot drew them in.” He glanced over the bodies. “Guess he didn’t make it,” he finished quietly.

“No.” Rick shook his head. “He didn’t.”

Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. “Why were you lookin’ for me?”

“Carol said you told Zach you were gonna find me, and when I came in without you she got worried.” Rick paused. “You weren’t tryin’ to find me.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t.”

“What were you doin’?”

“I just – I don’t know. I needed to get away.” He bit at his thumbnail and refused to meet Rick’s eyes.

“From what?” Rick prompted.

“Hell, I don’t know.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “Everythin’. Everyone askin’ me for thin’s, lookin’ to me ‘cause you ain’t around no more, bein’ inside those walls all damn day. And you, lookin’ at me like –” He broke off and sighed.

“Like what?” Rick asked, his shoulders stiffening defensively.

“Like – like you expect somethin’.” Daryl bit his lip, ducking under the curtain of his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you – shit, you, you expect me to be like you, all fuckin’, I don’t know, _practiced_ , and I’m just not, okay? I ain’t used to this.” He crossed his arms again.

“Do you mean…” Rick trailed off, losing his nerve. He took a breath and tried once more. “You mean, um, what happened? Couple nights ago?”

Daryl nodded, meeting his eyes.

“Daryl…” He wasn’t able to hide the edge of hurt in his tone. “Daryl, I don’t expect anythin’ from you. I don’t,” he repeated, when Daryl opened his mouth to retort. “I – I want things from you, but it ain’t anythin’ I’m willin’ to take unless you want them, too.”

Rick rubbed his eyes, feeling weary and worn, his throat closing painfully with guilt. “I’m sorry about what I did. I thought you wanted –”

“I do,” Daryl said quickly. “I thought you would want someone more, I don’t know.” He looked at Rick, his eyes sad and lost.

“More what?”

“Experienced,” Daryl finished, looking hopelessly down at his feet.

Rick got that horrible feeling again, like his heart was cracking down the middle and trying to climb up his throat.

“I don’t,” he said shortly, and Daryl looked up, his blue eyes red rimmed, and Rick closed the distance between them in one stride, sliding his arms around Daryl, one around his waist, the other pressed against his back, his hand at the back of his head, brushing his fingers through Daryl’s tangled hair and tucking his head under his chin. Daryl unfolded his arms to wrap them around Rick’s middle, accidently hitting Rick in the chest with one hand. He made a muffled sound, his face pressed into Rick’s neck, and tightened his grip around Rick’s stomach.

“What?” Rick tilted his head back to look at him and Daryl raised his head up a bit, his face pink.

“Sorry,” he repeated, loosening one arm to reach around and pat Rick’s chest. A slow grin spread across Rick’s face, and Daryl, with a bashful half-smile, put his head on Rick’s shoulder, bringing his arm back around to pull Rick closer.

They stood like that for a long moment, Rick unable to wipe the contented grin off his face and pressing kisses to the top of Daryl’s head every now and then, Daryl hugging him tighter each time he did so. Too soon he heard the tell-tale sound of shuffling and low groans, and he reluctantly let go, pressing a finger to his lips and jerking his head to the side when Daryl looked up, confused and hurt. Understanding dawned on him, and he turned, arms hanging loosely around Rick, to get a good look at the new threat.

There weren’t many, no more than seven, wandering about between the trees, cold and empty, like dry cantaloupe skins blowing around in the breeze. So far they were harmless, a good twenty feet away and the two men gone unnoticed.

Daryl dropped his arms, taking Rick’s hand and pulling him silently away, creeping by the boulder and taking a long loop through the forest to shake off any stragglers. They made it back to the road, Daryl putting out a hand to bring Rick to a silent stop. Rick followed his gaze and saw the body across the road, considerably less of it than before, a lone walker crouched over and feeding, its stomach protruding, slowly eating the remains. Daryl’s crossbow still sat at the feet.

Daryl made a silent gesture, telling Rick to stay put, and slunk across the road, drawing his knife. Rick followed quietly behind, shrugging when Daryl gave him an exasperated look over his shoulder. He bent down to pick up his crossbow, shooting the walker straight through the skull as it looked up, meat swinging in its mouth and its hands grasping for him. It fell back with a thump and Daryl pulled the arrow out, his nose wrinkling at the sight of the body. He hopped back into the road, sheathing his knife and holding his crossbow loose in one hand, the broken strap dangling in the dirt.

“Told you to stay put,” he said.

“Thought you might need help,” Rick said in mock seriousness. Daryl rolled his eyes, reloaded his crossbow, and turned, heading across the road and back into the woods. Rick trotted along behind him.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Daryl stopped, crouching down to examine something Rick couldn’t see. He bent over his shoulder, squinting at the imprint of a boot in the dirt. Daryl glanced at him, starting with his boot and trailing all the way up to meet his eyes.

“This yours?”

Rick coughed. “Might be.”

“You’re fuckin’ shit at trackin’, you know,” Daryl remarked, standing up and brushing himself off. Rick straightened with him and grinned sheepishly. Daryl eyed him and smiled, reaching out to punch him playfully in the stomach.

Rick caught his wrist, his fingers brushing over his skin, and he felt Daryl’s pulse leap at his touch. They looked at each other for a moment with bated breath, Daryl’s mouth opening a fraction and his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Rick gripped Daryl’s forearms, his heart thumping frantically in his chest, and walked him backwards until he hit the nearest tree, his back flush against the bark and his eyes wide and pupils dilated.

Rick stared at him, drinking in the sight, starting with Daryl’s hair, bits of dirt and blood matting it together, plastered to the back of his neck with sweat, and moved all the way down, to his dark eyes, to his parted lips, to his chest moving up and down with each ragged breath, to his arms pressed to his sides, to the stripe of pale skin just above his waistline. Daryl dropped his crossbow with a loud thump.

Daryl squirmed and Rick looked back up, letting go of Daryl’s arms and pressing his own hands on either side of Daryl’s head, the bark harsh and unforgiving against his palms, scraped and cut from falling. Arms free, Daryl wrapped one around Rick’s waist, pulling him in close, Rick’s thigh brushing against his jeans, and Daryl, already hard, closed his eyes and bit his lip to hold in a groan. Rick exhaled sharply, feeling a fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Daryl opened his eyes and, holding his lip between his teeth, brought up his other arm, cupping Rick’s jaw in his hand. He cautiously, curiously, tipped Rick’s head up and leaned in, brushing his lips against Rick’s throat. Rick swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling a warmth spread all the way from his forehead to the tips of his toes, growing hot in his abdomen.

Daryl’s hand ran along his skin from his jawline to the back of his head, his fingers pushing through the tangled curls at the nape of his neck. Rick tilted his head down and Daryl tugged him closer, pressing their lips together.

It wasn’t perfect, both of them covered in grime, their lips chapped, teeth clicking together in their rush, but it was everything, all the world around him grinding to a halt. Everything was wrong, every bit of this tragedy torn world fucking them over around every corner they turned, every road they took, shaking their confidence and sucking up their courage. Everything had gone to shit, but there was still this, their desperate and imperfect kiss; there was still Daryl beneath him, pulling back in embarrassment when he accidently bit Rick’s lip, breathing a little “oh”, his cheeks and the tips of his ears coloring pink; there was still his sound of muffled delight when Rick grinned and wound his arms around Daryl’s back, dipping down to kiss him. The world had gone to shit, but there was still this man in his arms, stubborn and bashful and broken beyond belief, imperfect but undeniably perfect anyway, because Rick wanted every single fucking piece of him, because Rick would do absolutely anything for him, and that was everything.

Rick broke away to take a breath. His heart hammered and he pressed his forehead to Daryl’s, breathing deeply. He inhaled sharply when Daryl moved, his hip brushing over Rick’s crotch, wiggling his arms out from under Rick to bring his hands up, dirty and sweaty palms holding each side of Rick’s face, lifting his head up to look him in the eye.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, eyes boring into Rick’s, dark with lust, the blue almost black in the fading light. Overhead a bird twittered, answered a moment later by another.

“Yeah,” Rick breathed, eyes flickering down. Daryl’s hands fell to his shoulders. Rick reached down to finger Daryl’s belt, his breath hitching when Daryl kissed his neck, teeth grazing against his skin.

“This ain’t a good idea,” Rick murmured, mostly to convince himself.

“No.” Daryl’s breath was hot against his neck, making Rick flush.

“Should we stop?”

Daryl hesitated a second, one hand sliding down to Rick’s hip, his fingers hooking into Rick’s shirt to pull it up, untucking it, and his hand crept under the hem to smooth over his stomach. “No.”

Rick’s fingers stumbled over unbuttoning Daryl’s belt and undoing his fly, his heartbeat in his ears and his body reminding him painfully against the rough denim of his jeans to hurry up already. He tore his eyes away from Daryl’s hips, his pants hanging open and his belt buckle clinking.

“You sure?” Rick murmured, meeting his gaze.

Daryl nodded once. Rick slid one finger under the elastic of his briefs, but his eyes snapped back up when Daryl coughed.

“I – I’m no good at this,” he mumbled. He looked down, his hair falling to cover his eyes.

“Honestly I’m not either,” Rick said softly. Daryl glanced at him and Rick smiled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind Daryl’s ear. “Been a long time since I was with a guy.” He didn’t elaborate; Daryl didn’t need to know right now about Rick’s embarrassing first time, senior year of high school at a party at the deserted football field, with a boy named Kit Riehs, in the back of Kit’s car, both of them clumsy and drunk and Rick utterly inexperienced, and Rick stumbling away afterward with his pants unbuttoned and his shoes missing, Shane finding him a little later, worried and exasperated, supporting Rick under the arms and pulling him to his car, driving him home and carrying him to his room when Rick passed out on the drive back, and Kit avoiding him in school for the rest of the year, the only person he’d slept with besides Lori. “Been a long time since I was with anyone.”

Something like sorrow flickered behind Daryl’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with a sigh, reaching up to brush Rick’s cheek. Rick tilted his head, leaning in to the touch. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, choking down all thoughts of Lori and Shane. Daryl’s finger, slipping down to trace over his lips, brought him back and he opened his eyes.

Rick parted his lips and flicked his tongue over Daryl’s finger, watching in awe as Daryl’s hips twitched and he made a deep, throaty sound. That sound sent him over the edge, pitching him into the boiling pot of lust they danced around, and he made a guttural noise, surging forward to kiss Daryl, open mouthed and hasty and wet, as he hurried to unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans, sliding them and his underwear down around his knees.

He broke away to draw a breath and work off Daryl’s pants, but he had beat Rick to it, yanking his briefs down and shimmying out of his jeans, which fell around his ankles in a crumpled heap, briefs stretching around his thighs. Rick took a moment to admire him, pale skin flushed, glorious trail of light hair, lighter than the shaggy mop on his head, starting at his belly button and sprinkling down.

Daryl’s arms went around Rick’s neck and he drew him in, their bodies hard and taught and flush against each other. Daryl rocked into him and grunted, a burst of warm breath sifting through Rick’s hair.

“God,” Rick groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and plunging his hand down to wrap his long fingers around both of them, slick with precome, but still too raw, Daryl squirming from his rough, cold hand.

“Sorry,” Rick murmured, bringing his palm up to spit in it before trying again, clumsily slipping over them both, getting a good grip and starting to pump. With his left hand he braced himself against the tree to keep from falling over, the friction of his hand and Daryl’s cock against him dizzying and euphoric. He put his head on Daryl’s shoulder, drawing shallow breaths, seeing stars as his own name was tattooed into his skin by Daryl’s lips, his arms locked around Rick’s neck and his face pressed into the dip of his shoulder.

Daryl finished first, his back arching and his arms tightening, nearly cutting off Rick’s air supply. He whimpered against Rick as his orgasm hit him, smearing the scarred skin on his stomach and Rick’s fingers with come. Rick followed moments after, his hand slipping away from Daryl to wrap around just himself, finishing with four practiced swipes, his shoulders rolling, his vision going hazy as his climax hit.

He felt weak and shaky, and he bowed down, knees buckling, keeping his head on Daryl’s shoulder and gripping the front of Daryl’s shirt for support with his clean hand. He felt Daryl’s arms loosen as he slumped back against the tree, one shaky hand coming up to smooth through Rick’s hair. Rick turned his head to kiss Daryl’s neck and above him Daryl made a soft sound of contentment.

He looked down at his hand, sticky and wet, and sighed, bending down to wipe it on his jeans in cloudy streaks, figuring his pants were already covered in dirt and guts, and it wouldn’t do much more damage to add semen to the mix.

Daryl chuckled and Rick lifted his head, raising his eyebrows at him.

“You don’t do your own laundry,” Daryl pointed out.

Rick looked down at his pants and snorted. “This time I will.”

Daryl made a “tch” sound, rolling his eyes in amusement, and nudged Rick away, stooping over to put on his tattered pants when Rick stepped back to give him some space and hike up his own and tuck in his t-shirt.

As the sun began to set, orange and pink painting the sky in the west over the tree line, they emerged from the woods, Daryl taking the lead, shooting the walker that came ambling over from the fence with a twang of his bow, and Rick a step behind, raising his hand to Sasha, who had her gun aimed at them when they came out, covered in dirt and blood, brambles sticking to their clothes and leaves knotting in their hair. She lowered her gun, mouth falling open in shock and relief.

“What took so long?” she called, setting down her gun and trotting over to the cable. The gate slowly creaked open, just wide enough for them to slip through, and they did, Sasha slowly releasing the rope and the gate swinging shut behind them. Rick let out a low breath, his body relaxing behind the thick doors.

“Good god, what happened to you two?” Sasha gave them a once over, her eyes widening at the dry blood flaking off of Daryl’s face, the cuts on Rick’s face and arms and hands, and the cloud of dust that seemed to settle over them permanently.

They looked at each other and Daryl shrugged, as if to say “you can handle this one.”

Rick ran his fingers through his matted hair, inhaling slowly through his nose, wincing. God, they smelled bad.

“Ran into some trouble,” he supplied finally, looking down at himself, covered in grime.

“I’ll say.” Sasha beckoned them over, putting a hand on Rick’s shoulder and immediately leaning away, trying not to wrinkle her nose. “Come on, let’s get you two inside and washed up.”

 

 


	6. Setting Up Romantic Scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are too many flashbacks, and Daryl finally says what he's been meaning to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! This chapter takes place post Terminus and pre Church, with tons of flashbacks in between. I'm sorry this took forever to post, but I ran into some personal stuff to deal with, and it took awhile to get around to finishing the last part. But here it is and I hope you all like it! I really enjoyed writing this story, and if inspiration strikes I might add more chapters. Thanks to everyone who left a comment/kudos, and if anybody has any prompts for this piece or anything else, you can let me know here or head over to my tumblr. Much love c:

Daryl crouched down, crossbow balancing in one hand, carefully sweeping away freshly fallen leaves from a divot in the ground. Sure enough, a hoof print was sunken into the mud, still beading with brown drops of water. He stood and exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool early morning air. He scanned the trees through narrowed eyes.

A crunch sounded a ways ahead and he stepped forward stealthily, the tan hide of the buck flashing behind a tree about thirty feet in front of him.

Another sound came from Daryl’s right, much closer and definitely not a deer. He spun around, raising his crossbow, string and arrow already locked into place. There was a squelch and a muttered “fuck.”

A crash in the distance told him the deer was leaping away, having heard the disturbance, too far gone now to hunt. Daryl sighed.

“Was trackin’ that buck for hours,” he called, lowering his crossbow and climbing over a large fallen tree. He pushed aside the thick, green branches of a pine and got a good look at Rick, one boot ankle deep in thick mud and a sheepish grin on his face.

Daryl rolled his eyes and came closer. “You’re shit at trackin’.”

“You told me that already,” Rick said, looking down to try and pull his foot free.

“Yeah, an’ I’m gonna keep sayin’ it until you stop fuckin’ doin’ it,” Daryl grumbled. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and gave Rick a once over. “How’d you manage to get stuck?”

“Didn’t see the mud,” Rick mumbled, tugging irritably at his foot.

Daryl chuckled, his annoyance at losing the deer ebbing away easily with the way Rick looked up at him, his blue eyes blinking helplessly. He swung his crossbow over his shoulder and came up to Rick, putting a hand on his arm to steady him, as he was trying to pull himself free.

“Here,” Daryl said, moving to stand behind Rick. He slid his arms under Rick’s armpits and hugged him tight to his chest. “On three?”

Rick nodded and Daryl leaned his head back to avoid getting a mouthful of hair.

“Kay, one, two, three!” He dug his heels into the ground and yanked, pulling Rick’s foot right out of his boot and sending both of them sprawling. Daryl hit the ground on his back, his crossbow digging into his skin, the string snapping forward and sending the arrow spinning into a rock, and Rick fell right on top of him, Daryl’s arms still wrapped around his middle and the air leaving them both in a whoosh.

“Mother fucker,” Daryl groaned, dropping his arms to his sides. Rick rolled off of him, wheezing.

“You okay?” he asked hoarsely. Daryl drew in a deep breath and pushed himself up on shaky arms. He rubbed the back of his head and nodded.

“You?”

“M’fine.” Rick sat up, too, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands resting on his thighs, looking wearily over at his boot, still stuck firmly in the mud. He shook his head in exasperation, one curl springing loose from the slicked-back hairs on the top of his head and falling onto his forehead. Daryl’s eyes glued on to that piece of hair, heat creeping up his neck as he remembered a similar sight not too long ago, maybe five or six hours, when Rick was leaning over him, his hand warm between Daryl’s thighs, fingers slick and soft inside of him, brow furrowed in concentration and his curly hair becoming less tamed as he moved. Daryl was holding his breath to stay quiet, but he couldn’t help the gasp that spilled from between his lips when he came, hips bucking up in Rick’s other hand. Body weak, he sprawled out on the blanket, which was small, built for a twin bed, and laid out over the forest floor. It had been quick, hasty, because they were exhausted and it was long overdue.

Abraham, sitting up on a stone at the edge of their makeshift camp, was on watch, and he had given a snort, making Daryl bury his face into Rick’s shoulder in embarrassment. Rick kissed the top of his head and lay back on the blanket, wincing slightly. Every one of them had been physically and mentally traumatized at Terminus, and here, in the scant moonlight shining through the trees, deep rooted pain and weary lines were woven into the creases of Rick’s face.

Daryl curled up against him, using his slow rising chest as a pillow and slinging one arm over his stomach. A part of him wished there was a better place, that they had a quiet spot they could go, but another part just didn’t care, and that part dominated; that part of him didn’t give a flying fuck who heard them, because for a few heart-breaking days he hadn’t held out hope that Rick was alive (he’d learned long ago to expect the worst, and that way at least he wouldn’t be disappointed when he got shit on over and over by some sick cosmic entity).

But when he was with Joe’s group, when he came around the corner and saw Rick, Michonne, and Carl, nothing else had mattered. It wasn’t about hope or self-preservation; it was only a handful of minutes, sparse seconds where family was the feeling he knew. He couldn’t recall what went through his mind when he saw them, Rick with the barrel of Joe’s gun bruising his temple, Michonne with her arms up and a terrifyingly protective expression on her face, and Carl, scared and squirming, wrapped in those thick arms, that man, Dan, smiling sickening and savage, with a glint in his eye that Daryl knew, had seen before, and sent him into a hot wrath.

People said that red was passion. Daryl didn’t know if that was what he’d felt, but in those moments he knew red. He saw red, the dozens of blood vessels popping in his eyes, his vision bleeding with anger, boiling rage. He smelled red, the burning ashes that cracked and tainted the air with smoke. Red smelled like the sweat that trickled down into his eyes and curled above his lip, it smelled like the fear and adrenaline that pumped through his body, overheating. He tasted red when Harley and Tony came at him, beating him into the side of the truck, an uppercut to his jaw making his teeth clamp down on his lip, splitting it and filling his mouth with pain and determination. Red colored the breeze when Rick tore into Joe’s throat, spattering the black sky with his cold fury, and later, when Rick sunk back against the truck, breathing hard but steady, red sunk into his beard, soaking his skin and turning him into something Daryl would’ve feared, if he wasn’t in their group, if he wasn’t under the radar and already stitched to Rick’s side. Somebody would have to pry him free if they wanted to get him away; they’d have to take a saw to his hip and shear him off because he’d reattached himself and he wasn’t moving, not for anything.

In those precious few hours they had that night, sex wasn’t on his mind. There hadn’t been much touching, either, there hadn’t been a need for it. There was only their sides pressed together, when Daryl slumped against the truck beside him, scooting over until their arms were flush, not needing much, just Rick’s warmth. After a few words they fell into silence, comfortable and familiar, the only sounds being the occasional shift from Carl and Michonne inside the truck and the wind creaking the trees.

At some point Rick’s head drifted onto Daryl’s shoulder, his shallow breaths indicating he had fallen asleep, and Daryl put his arm around him, offering what little heat he could. His head spun from lack of sleep and physical exhaustion, and his eyes burned, welling up and spilling over. He thought of Rick, and the four of them together, with only each other, and he thought of Beth, and how she had been taken from him so suddenly, right after things started to seem ok, and how he could still feel his lungs squeezing from chasing after her, how he couldn’t seem to catch his breath because she was still out there and he had to bring her back. He thought of Carol, Hershel, Glenn, Maggie, Judith, Merle, Tyreese, Sasha, and Bob, all those people at the prison, Lori, Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, Amy, Jaqui, Jim, and Sophia Peletier. He put his head on top of Rick’s, closing his eyes and letting himself cry for a moment, because his heart hurt and no one was paying him any mind. He thought of Joe and his group, Garreth and the others, The Governor, those people behind the tanks, and Shane; none of them he missed but all of them he regretted, wishing things had gone differently, selfishly thinking that it would’ve been better if he and his family didn’t have to deal with it.

Rick made a small sound in his sleep and Daryl sniffled, rubbing his eyes.

It wasn’t like they had time to be intimate, not now. Now, Daryl regretted their few months at the prison, wishing he had done less pussyfooting and showed Rick exactly what he wanted, but was too afraid to ask for. He wished he had acted on his feelings the minute Rick started to reciprocate them, but it wasn’t realistic, because he was not the type of person to take charge and initiate things, not like Rick, no; he was the type of person who piped down and closed up when it came to his own heart, never asking for what he wanted and being used for what he didn’t. He wished he hadn’t taken so long, and that Rick hadn’t taken so long, and that they would’ve had more time. And he wished they would’ve wholeheartedly used every minute they got alone, because in this world time wasn’t a luxury they could afford to waste.

There was a good amount of time at the prison, and some of it they’d used to full extent, after that first time in the woods. In the beginning it was always Rick taking the first step – the second time it happened had been an accident at first. Daryl was in the shower, stripping down to his bare skin and just about to turn on the water, when there was a yelp of surprise behind him, sending him whirling around and grabbing his towel, clutching it to his waist. It was Rick, with only his boxers and bare feet, his towel draped around his shoulders, stepping back in shock. And then Daryl’s hand had slipped, his towel falling to a heap at his feet, both their eyes staring at it for a moment before Rick came forward, tossing his towel on the floor and pulling down his underpants, drawing in when Daryl wrapped his arms around his waist. And then after, when they were both shaky and spent and Daryl put his head back on the tiled wall, closing his eyes and sucking in deep breaths, Rick had kissed his cheek and reached around him to turn on the tap, running his fingers over every scar under the lukewarm water.

The next few times Rick sought out, too, climbing into his bed in the middle of the night or pulling him along to an unlit and unused corridor of the prison. It was like that for a while, and then one night it wasn’t.

He was curled up under his covers, the sound of Hershel’s low snores echoing in the cell block, and he missed Rick, more than usual. He felt cheated, because that day dawn had come with the promise of a supply run, and he, Bob, Glenn, and Maggie left just as the sun rose, while everyone still slept, everyone but Carol, who was already up when they walked into the outdoor kitchen, yawning, four bowls of oatmeal set out for them. She pushed a list into Daryl’s hand, one that she had drafted the day before, going around and asking if anyone needed anything. She knew Judith needed baby food, baby wipes, and they weren’t running low on diapers just yet but they would be soon. Hershel asked for children’s Benadryl – they’d discovered Mika was allergic to Yellow Jackets after a scare when she came in from playing by the garden with her cheeks pink and puffed out like a chipmunk, a shiny sting right on her jaw – as well as cough syrup, cough drops, Vick’s vapor rub, and whatever medicine they could find, since the weather was getting cooler and a few of the Woodbury folk came down with a cold. Beth needed hair ties, and they all needed more soap. Glenn needed a new toothbrush as well as something he refused to mention, blushing when Carol asked, his gaze flitting over Maggie.

When they climbed into the boarded up supermarket through the broken windows, Daryl followed Glenn with narrowed eyes through the aisles, understanding hitting him when Glenn picked up a box of condoms and two little tubes, gathering them discreetly in his arms and breezing by Daryl with an embarrassed grin. Daryl watched Glenn hand the items over to Maggie, who tittered and stuffed them into her backpack. He blinked and took a careful step toward the shelves, squinting at the rows of plastic tubes, like mini tubes of toothpaste, bright purple and inviting. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, then turned back to the display, picking up a tube and turning it over to read the label: silicon-based lubricant. He made to put it back, then stopped when a tiny thought grew in his mind, making his face heat up and his heartbeat quicken. He slipped it into his pocket and turned around, flinching when he met Maggie’s eyes. She looked away, and he couldn’t tell if she’d seen him, but if her tiny smile was anything to go by, he’d guess she had.

They got what they needed and left, running into trouble in the form of survivors banded together outside in the parking lot. Maggie, hopping out the window first, made a quick gesture, shaking her head furiously at Glenn, who was moving to climb out after her. He did so anyway, pulling his gun out when he landed on the ground, and Daryl and Bob followed suit. They hid behind a dumpster pushed up against the building and strained their ears.

Some kind of argument was going on, but they couldn’t tell exactly what it was about; Daryl could only make out a few words, “mother fuckin’ dickhead!” and “takin’ my shit” and “beat his ass” shouted louder than the others.

“Should we talk to ‘em?” Maggie whispered, peeking out from behind the dumpster.

Daryl shook his head gravely. “They don’t sound like the type we want locked up with our people.”

“What do we do?” Glenn whispered back.

“I say we wait it out,” Bob murmured.

They did, the four of them cramped uncomfortably behind the dumpster, listening to the rising anger and finality of the gunshot that made Maggie flinch and clutch Glenn tightly, the resulting growls of walkers stumbling out of the woods, the shouting of men and the sound of running. They waited longer, hearing the faint hobbles of dead feet, and the sun moved across the sky to the west slowly, edging its way overhead until it sunk below the tops of the trees. Daryl’s stomach rumbled painfully, having eaten only a little oatmeal many hours ago, and he pushed himself up, he knees creaking.

“What are you doing?” Glenn hissed, tugging on his pant leg to get him back down.

“Fuck this,” Daryl grumbled, shaking Glenn off. He hefted up his crossbow, an arrow already secured, and glanced down at his three companions. “C’mon, those ass hats’re long gone.” He crouched down and peered around the side of the dumpster, squinting in the fading light. “I see five walkers. We can take ‘em down easy.”

Glenn came up behind him, trying to see over Daryl’s shoulder. “Where?”

“Closest one here.” He nodded at a solitary shadow, about two yards away, slowly dragging its feet as it pervaded around in meaningless circles. “Four others in the middle of the parking lot.” He pointed to the cluster, hunched over a stationary figure.

“I can take that one in a second, tops,” Glenn whispered, close to Daryl’s ear, eyes on the lone walker. Daryl nodded.   

“Those four are distracted, an’ if we’re quiet they’ll be a piece a’ cake,” he murmured. He glanced back at the three of them. “No guns.”

“No guns,” Maggie agreed, strapping hers over her shoulder and drawing her hunting knife from the sheath on her thigh.

They did it quickly, Glenn leaping out first to cut through the closest walker’s soft skull, and then leading them silently to the four in the parking lot digging into the dead man’s flesh. They killed them easily, and Daryl scrunched up his face in disgust, turning his eyes away from the man with his guts spilled out on the dusty pavement, and pulled his arrow out of a walker’s head, stepping away and wiping the blood off on his pants.

He glanced up at the sky, the clouds turning pink.

“We gotta head back,” Bob said seriously, following Daryl’s gaze. “Bad idea to be out here in the dark.”

There was a pause and Daryl looked around at all of them to see each one looking expectantly back at him. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously. It made sense that people would look to him, because he knew they all thought of him as Rick’s right hand man, and he guessed that was what it seemed like, but it wasn’t what he thought of it. He really didn’t give two shits about what his rank was, as long as he could have his space when he needed and as long as Rick wanted him around. He did what Rick said because Rick was a good leader and he was kind to Daryl, and there was that deep-seeded trait of his that bended to authority. Well, that’s what it started as. He still followed Rick’s orders for those reasons, but now it was also because he wanted to feel necessary and important, he needed to be close to him, and a small part of him wanted to impress Rick, to stay close at his heels and show off every now and then.

But, still, he didn’t want to be in charge. He knew Rick needed, deserved, his time off. And Daryl would be on the council, because for some reason they all wanted him to. But this, Maggie and Glenn and Bob looking at him like this, waiting for him to give a command, looking at him with submissive respect like the way they did with Rick as the leader, and with Hershel as the wisest, most revered of them all, this didn’t feel right. It made him shift awkwardly from foot to foot and stare down at his hands.

“You think we should head back?” Maggie asked. Daryl looked at her. Glenn, thankfully, piped up before Daryl could cough out an answer.

“That would be best. The other option is to lay low somewhere until morning,” he said, glancing at Daryl for agreement.

“We could – we could head back.” Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, feeling uncomfortable. “Doesn’t seem smart to stay away too long.”

“I agree,” Bob murmured, looking around apprehensively, as if he was waiting for trouble to come charging out of the woods.

“Let’s hop to it then,” Maggie said, clapping her hands together in a businesslike manner. She waited for Daryl to take the lead, however, and he did so reluctantly, shouldering his crossbow with the Duck-taped strap, glancing over his shoulder at them, Maggie and Glenn falling in to step behind him and Bob taking the rear.

They didn’t take any vehicles, because they liked to keep the Jeep and the Dodge Ram at the prison for precautionary measures, and Zach’s car needed oil, and the Hyundai was low on gas, and taking the motorcycle would have been pointless, since there were four of them going. The supermarket was only an hour or so of a walk, anyway, and they hadn’t planned on staying so long, they hadn’t planned on being out at dusk. But they were, and it was now that Daryl inwardly kicked himself, for not planning better, since apparently he was the one who was supposed to come up with a plan. He missed Rick.

When they finally reached the prison it was dark, twilit shadows of trees spreading creepily over the tall grass in front of the gates. Three figures stood at the gate, one pacing back and forth, another leaning against a fence post, arms crossed, and another peering out into the forest, fingers drumming on the chain links. This figure, the closest, gave a start when they came out of the woods, weary and worse for wear, but otherwise alright. The figure called out to the other two, and the one leaning on the fence jumped up to pull the cable. The gate creaked slowly open, and Carol darted out, throwing her arms around Daryl and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I was so worried about you!”

“Stop,” Daryl mumbled. He gently pried her free. She squeezed his arm and looked past him, holding out her hand to Maggie, who took it with a tired smile.

“You get everything on the list?” Carol asked, ushering them through the gate. Michonne, her muscles flexing as she held the cable in place, released it with a grunt and the gate shut behind them. She came forward, wiping her hands on her pants.

“We couldn’t find diapers,” Maggie sighed, shrugging her bag off her shoulders to unzip it, carefully concealing the box and the two tubes at the bottom of the pack. “And there wasn’t any cough syrup, but we got the vapor rub, Benadryl, and hair ties.” She zipped her bag back up and gestured at Bob. “Bob’s got Judith’s food and wipes, soap, and cough drops.”

“And I found some cans,” Glenn said, stepping up beside Maggie and slipping his hand through hers. She smiled at him. “And my new toothbrush. And some seed packets. I don’t know if we need those?”

He addressed the last figure, and Rick, who had been worrying tracks in the ground, shrugged. His eyes met Daryl’s for a moment, before Carol patted Daryl’s shoulder and he glanced at her.

“Let’s get inside,” she said. Her hand dropped away and she started up the hill, beckoning for them to follow. “We saved you some dinner.”

They followed her up the hill, Glenn hurrying, holding his stomach, and Daryl fell behind, slowing his pace until he was next to Rick, who was at the very back. Rick had his hands shoved in his pockets and he watched his feet, dirt crunching beneath his soles.

“You took a long time,” he muttered after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said quietly. His hands itched to reach out and touch Rick, so he gripped the straps of his backpack, getting the feeling that now wasn’t the time.

“What happened?” He had slowed even more, so that they were a good ten paces behind Michonne, Maggie, and Bob, with Glenn and Carol further up front.

“We found some survivors.” Rick looked up and Daryl plowed on, avoiding his eyes so he could think, focus. “They didn’t sound friendly, so we hid. They shot one of their own, brought out a whole bunch a’ walkers. We waited a while, ‘til it was clear.” He trailed off and squeezed the shoulder straps.

“Everyone ok?”

“Yeah, all fine. Tired and hungry, though.”

He heard Rick chuckle and he smiled, leaning over to nudge him in the side playfully. Rick nudged him back gently and they said no more, walking in a comfortable silence side by side, picking up the pace slightly when Daryl’s stomach gave an insistent growl.

Inside, seated comfortably at the round table in their cell block, Rick sat across from him while he ate, with Carol, who had placed plates of venison and boiled green beans in front of the four of them, in the chair next to him and with Glenn, Maggie, and Bob filling in the spaces between. Michonne had drifted into her cell, after saying good night to them and patting Rick’s arm when she passed.

Carol cleaned the dishes, waving Rick away when he stood to help, and slowly they each drifted off, Bob heading up the stairs to his cell, Glenn and Maggie holding hands and hurrying away. As Carol stacked the dirty plates, Rick pushed his chair back and got up, murmuring good night, and leaned down to kiss Daryl, gentle and soft. Daryl watched him walk away, until he was at his cell, pulling the curtain back and slipping inside.

He excused himself a moment later, ignoring Carol’s knowing smile when she wished him good night, and climbed the stairs. He collapsed onto his bed face up, too tired to remove his clothes, toeing off his shoes and shaking them onto the floor. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t mind that Carol knew, not so much. It embarrassed him, and he didn’t like talking about it, but she wasn’t one to pry if he asked her not to. For the most part, people knew about him and Rick, or at least suspected something was going on. He didn’t give them any information, and neither did Rick, both preferring to be quiet about it and neither one of them big on affection, not in public anyway. But he knew people saw it, in the way Carol had grinned at him just now, in the way Maggie looked at him in the supermarket, in the way Hershel sometimes watched them with crinkled eyes and a gentle smile, in the way Beth giggled whenever Daryl stole something from Rick’s plate or put his feet in his lap, in the way Michonne chortled when she went to relieve Daryl in the watch tower one night and found Rick curled up asleep beside him, in the way Carl looked at him, wary and surly at first, then slowly starting to be unsurprised and unshaken, slowly becoming comfortable and accepting when he’d walk into his dad’s cell and find Daryl sitting with him.

His head was spinning from exhaustion. He tried to calm his mind but things blossomed behind his eyes, visions of bloodied pavement and dead faces, faces he knew. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he’d seen time and time again from Rick and had subconsciously adopted.

He rolled over, curling up beneath his blankets, and listened to Hershel’s snores a floor below. The wind rattled the windows and around him people shifted on their flat mattresses. Something was digging into his hip and he rolled over again irritably, shoving his hand into his pocket. Blinking in the dim light, he fingered the tube of lubricant. In all the confusion of the day he forgot he took it, and now, looking at the purple tube, he felt more awake, butterflies stirring pleasantly below his navel. He debated for a second, then shoved the blankets off and tiptoed down the stairs, his socks making his footsteps muffled, and clutched the tube tightly in his hand.

His bravery faltered for a moment outside of Rick’s cell, but he told himself he was being stupid; there was no reason to be nervous, not with everything they’d already been through. He ducked around the curtain, pausing to look at Rick, who slept haphazardly, a trait that they found didn’t work well with two grown men trying to share a twin bed.

He was sprawled out in bed, sheets tangled around his legs and slipping down his stomach. His face was turned away from Daryl, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other dangling off the bed. His hair was in disarray and his chest moved peacefully up and down.

Daryl swallowed. He could feel his arousal pressing insistently and uncomfortably against his jeans, but he froze, rooted to the ground. He held the tube in a tight fist close to his chest.

This had seemed like such a good idea, but now he wasn’t sure. Rick always started things, and Daryl didn’t know how to proceed from here. Was this an acceptable reason to wake him? Would he be all for it, or would he be mad at Daryl? Maybe this wasn’t the right time.

He took a step back and bumped into the chair set by Judith’s crib, which was empty, so she must’ve been sleeping in Beth’s cell. The chair legs scraped the floor and the chair dipped, and Rick jerked awake, banging his head on a metal bar and flipping over, the sheets knotting around his feet. He pushed himself up, rubbing his head and trying to kick the blankets off.

“Daryl?” he asked groggily. Daryl righted the chair and shuffled closer.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry I woke you.”

Rick rubbed his eyes. He peeled the sheets away from his legs. “S’okay.” He scooted to the side of the bed, stifling a yawn with one hand and patting the mattress with the other. Daryl climbed in and Rick tugged at his belt loop.

“You gonna sleep in these?” His hand drifted to Daryl’s abdomen, long fingers warm against his skin.

“I –” He broke off when Rick’s hand brushed lower.

“Oh.” Rick smiled sleepily and kept his hand where it was, making Daryl wriggle closer. “What’s that?” He nodded at Daryl’s fist, still clutched to his chest.

“It’s, um.” Daryl offered it to him. Rick took it curiously, rolling over on his back and holding it up to squint at it. “I found it. Today. While we were out.”

“Ah.” Rick rubbed his eyes again, looking more alert. He rolled back to face Daryl, holding the tube in one hand and letting the other run down the length of Daryl’s arm, over his fingers, slipping over his bottom and coming back around to hook his forefinger and middle finger under his waistband.

“What’re you plannin’ on doin’ with it?” he murmured.

Daryl squirmed, trying to grind against him, but Rick scooted away, a sly smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Daryl scowled.

“Fuck you,” he grumbled, trying to swipe the tube. Rick held it at arm’s length, a full on wicked grin spreading over his face.

“That an answer to my question, or are you just bein’ rude?”

Daryl flushed. “Give it back.”

Rick chuckled and passed the tube over, catching Daryl’s wrist when he reached out to take it and leaning in to kiss him, much less gentle than before, much wetter and more desperate and with more tongue. Daryl pulled his wrist free and wrapped his arms around Rick’s middle, rolling them both over so he lay on his back.

Rick sat up, bending his knees so he was straddling Daryl’s hips. Daryl’s hands fell to his sides and Rick’s fingers brushed over his fist, still clenched around the tube.

“You want to do this?” he asked breathlessly.

Daryl reached up to cup his jaw, running his thumb through his beard and over his lips. “If you can keep quiet.”

Rick nodded vigorously and bent over to work off Daryl’s pants and underwear, lifting himself up on his knees to pull them all the way off. He sat back down and began unbuttoning Daryl’s shirt. Daryl sat up, shrugging it off and tossing it to the floor, and wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, pulling him into a furious kiss. Rick made a noise and when Daryl pinched him he pulled away, taking shallow breaths and smiling in the dark.

“Sorry,” he murmured, leaning in and nosing down the side of Daryl’s neck. Daryl let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, watching curly, flyaway hairs dance as he exhaled. He slid one hand down Rick’s back and tugged at his briefs.

“Take these off,” he mumbled.

Rick kissed his neck and straightened, lifting up on his knees again to slip them off and awkwardly around his ankles, kicking his feet a few times until they fell to the floor. He lay down on top of Daryl, propping himself up on his elbows. He smiled down at him and brushed Daryl’s bangs out of his eyes.

Daryl’s heart thumped in his chest and his skin felt tingly, like all his nerves in his body were pleasantly thrumming. Above all else, things like this got him the most excited, made him feel giddy and dizzy and stupidly happy. Dirty promises whispered in his ear were nice, but that slow smile and those bright eyes, sweet things like gentle touches or kisses when no one was watching or staying up late to make sure Daryl got something to eat, these were the things that made him feel like that thing other people talked about, other people had, might’ve been something for him after all. He knew he’d been infatuated before, had one-sided crushes. He knew, despite everything, that he loved his brother and his mom, and though he hated to think he did, he probably pathetically loved his dad, too. He might’ve loved Carol, in the way of having a friend, of someone who understood things about him that he didn’t have to say. He most likely loved Judith, because there was no way anybody couldn’t. He knew he cared about Hershel, Glenn, Beth, Maggie, Carl, and Michonne, and maybe if he gave himself a minute to think about it he’d come to the conclusion that he loved them because they were his family. He knew, had known for a while, how he felt about Rick. He always pushed the thought away before, because he thought there was no way Rick would feel the same. Now, he pushed it away again, because it wasn’t practical, not in this world, and he wasn’t brave enough to say it, and that ever present self-depreciating streak still told him that he was fooling himself, that things like this didn’t happen to people like him.

Whatever the feeling was that rose painfully in his throat, he swallowed it down.

He held up the tube and Rick took it, his eyes never leaving Daryl’s.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah.” Daryl smiled for good measure. “Should hurry up, ‘fore I get too tired.”

Rick nodded thoughtfully but didn’t smile. “You sure about this?”

Daryl closed his eyes when Rick touched him again, his warm fingers brushing over his cheek.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Rick kissed his lips softly, his beard scratching familiarly against his jaw. Daryl wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, spreading his legs when Rick nudged his thigh. He heard Rick screwing off the cap and he buried his face into the span of sweaty skin between Rick’s neck and shoulder, finding that dip he liked to press his nose in. He inhaled slowly when Rick started to work him open, drowning himself in the smell of sweat and grass and their shared shampoo.

He opened his eyes when he felt Rick’s warm fingers slide out.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” Rick whispered in his ear. Daryl ran his fingers through Rick’s hair, arching his back when Rick moved, grinding against him. The first time he tried press in Daryl squirmed, his nails digging into Rick’s back and his knees clinging to Rick’s waist.

“I’m fine,” he breathed, holding Rick in place when he looked like he was about to climb off. Their eyes met, Rick looking hesitant and unsure, Daryl looking fierce and immovable.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Rick tried again, carefully spreading more lubricant over himself. He pushed all the way in this time, groaning softly, and Daryl bit his lip and held perfectly still.

Rick’s eyelids flickered open. He ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a slow breath. “Alright?” he asked.

“Just, one sec –” Daryl adjusted, trying to get used to the unfamiliar sensation. He slid his hands down to cup Rick’s ass, pulling him up a bit. His breath hitched when Rick’s stomach slid against his cock, and he reached one hand up to cup to back of Rick’s neck and pull him in for a kiss.

When they broke apart, the inside of Daryl’s mouth hot and his lips shiny and wet, Rick moved above him, slowly, pushing a little further, his breath puffing out over Daryl’s skin. Rick carefully moved again, this time brushing something that stirred a pleasant pressure from deep inside of him. Daryl wrapped both his arms around Rick’s neck and bent his knees, bringing his legs up to lock around his waist. Rick ground into him again, and again, starting a slow rhythm and speeding up when his breath quickened and he breathed Daryl’s name into his ear.

After, Daryl’s skin slick with sweat and his legs trembling, Rick collapsed next to him, wrapping his arms around him and snuggling his head underneath Daryl’s armpit.

That thought came up again, and the words burned his throat like bile rising from his stomach. I care about you, he wanted to say. You’re important to me and I –

He bit his lip painfully, and hated himself because he could get sprayed in the face with walker blood and barely bat an eyelash, but when it came to things like this he folded in on himself and his chest constricted so much it was hard to breathe.

Rick lifted up to pull the covers over them and kiss his neck sleepily, snuggling back down beside him. Daryl felt the long day catch up with him and his eyelids struggled to stay open. He decided he was fighting a losing battle and closed his eyes, groping around to find Rick’s hand and knit their fingers together, and letting the matter of feelings go for now.

Presently, watching Rick glare at his boot encased in sticky, thick mud, Daryl mentally kicked himself for not being so brave. He’d always sort of assumed that he had the safety net of the prison, and that their time together wouldn’t be cut short so suddenly as it had. As a result they were here, unprotected in the woods, with Beth missing and with so many bodies back home, and with Daryl still stewing over unmentioned affections.

He pushed himself up with a groan and picked up his arrow, which had hit the rock head on and splintered down the middle. Deciding it was done for, he broke off the tip and stuffed the arrowhead into his pocket, tossing the broken pieces of wood onto the forest floor.

“Let’s try one more time,” Rick sighed. He knelt down, wet dirt seeping into the worn knees of his jeans, and tried tugging the boot out. It wiggled a bit but stayed firmly in place.

Daryl crouched down beside him and pushed Rick’s hands away.

“Gotta dig some a’ this out first,” he grunted, scooping up handfuls of cold mud. It seeped in between his fingers and gathered under his fingernails. It didn’t make much of a difference though; every single one of them was covered in sweat and blood and dirt, and they all smelled pretty terrible. It made everyone irritable, and sometimes, when Rick laid down beside him at night, Daryl would sneak a peek at him through the corner of his eye, checking for a wrinkled nose or his face turned away.

Daryl wiped his hands on his pants, then gripped the straps of the boot tightly, counting to three in his head and yanking it up and out of the mud with a squelch. He held it out to Rick, who took it, grimacing at the mud-covered leather before he slid it on his foot.

“We should head back,” Rick said, looking down at his feet and shaking mud off his boot.

“The others are still on the road?” Daryl asked. They had camped out on the side of the road, preferring the open area to the thick woods, seeing as no one knew this place very well and they all needed the reassurance of being able to see what was coming, after everything that happened at Terminus.

Rick nodded and gestured for Daryl to lead the way back, and he did so, following his own trail through the woods with Rick close behind, an unexpected comfort in the woods, a place where he normally required solitude.

Almost halfway back they stopped, hearing a gunshot, and then picked up the pace, stumbling the rest of the way and coming crashing out of the woods. Daryl’s eyes darted left and right, scanning the road. A ways down he spotted the group, disappearing and reappearing amidst a horde of walkers. Rick swore beside him and together they sprinted down the road, making a beeline for the cluster.

Though tired and hungry, the group made quick work of the walkers, mostly thanks to Michonne and Abraham, both of them seeming to draw strength out of thin air and take down dead after dead. When Abraham killed the last one, crushing its skull into a pulp with the heel of his large boots, Daryl glanced around wearily at the group, assessing the damage.

Luckily no one was hurt, but they were all more worse for wear than they had been. Tyreese, having stayed as far away as possible to protect Judith, was walking around, cradling Judith in his arms while she whimpered, offering his water to any one in need. Maggie sat on the pavement, her head in her hands, while Glenn sat beside her, rubbing soothing circles into her back. Bob lay back on the pavement, breathing deeply, and Sasha lay beside him, raising her hand over her face to shield her eyes from the sun. Rosita curled up in Abraham’s lap, while Eugene sat close by, turning a rock over in his hands. Tara looked slightly lost and edged her way towards Glenn, whom she knew best out of all them. Michonne and Carl sat side by side, both staring at the ground and not speaking, each one lost in their private thoughts. Carol stood beside Daryl, sweat trickling down her brow, and Rick stood a distance ahead of them, facing east, observing the bodies strewn across the pavement, the sun casting a long shadow behind his body and encasing him in a golden aura, making him look like some sort of king, frozen and pensive in the aftermath of bloodshed.

Daryl squeezed Carol’s shoulder and made his way over to Rick, standing beside him. Rick didn’t look at him, but he cleared his throat to speak.

“Could you imagine us bein’ friends? Before all this?” He made a vague gesture, not really indicating any place in particular but the world in general.

“Stop,” Daryl snorted.

Rick shook his head. “No, I mean it. You think we woulda got along?”

Daryl shifted his crossbow to his other shoulder, his smile slipping. “Prob’ly not.”

Rick nodded slowly, looking down at his boots, brow creased, scuffing the ground with his heel.

“I mean, are we friends now?” Daryl asked, taking a step closer.

Rick kicked at a rock, sending it skidding over the blood soaked pavement. “I guess. I don’t know.” He glanced up. “I never really thought about it.”

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away, his eyes roving over the bodies strewn out like a battlefield before them.

“We’re all just survivors, when you get down to it,” he continued. “Ain’t room for friends, neighbors, nothin’ like that.”

“We get to come back,” Rick said, his voice hoarse, the words that he gained from Hershel now mumbled to himself like a mantra. Daryl met his eyes, an invisible force hooking into the skin at the corner of his mouth and tugging until a tiny smile cracked through the stony lines on his face.

He was right; they did get to come back. Rick got to come back; he was their leader, their protector, but a father above all else. And Daryl got to come back; he was not the man he used to be, brash, coldhearted, and full of adolescent hatred. He was different now, trying, at least. And that was something. All of them got to come back. They had to survive first and foremost, and they had to make tough decisions, and sometimes they didn’t have time to decide, sometimes they had to take the first way out they saw and hope they made it back to live with the consequences. Things weren’t the way they were, even the way they were before, at the camp, at the farm, at the prison. The line between morally right and morally wrong kept getting skewed with each step they took, blurring the further away they got from what lay behind. But here and there they could catch a break. Here and there they got time to breathe.

And here, right now, the sun had shined down on him and Daryl Dixon had caught break.

“Yeah,” he said again, the tiny smile seeping into his vocal cords and making him sound brighter than he looked. He reached out and took Rick’s hand, knitting their dirt-caked, blood-soaked, callus-torn fingers together. Rick glanced up in surprise, that slow, steady, pleased grin spreading over his face, the one Daryl loved more than anything, the one he wouldn’t trade for the fucking world – nothing else was worth shit if it meant he couldn’t see Rick smile at him like that.

Daryl coughed, and then took a deep breath before he spoke. “I don’t know if you’re my friend or what, but I’m almost positive I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t know what he expected to get in return after he said it, but Rick’s hearty chuckle wasn’t on the top of the list, and neither was the kiss on his cheek and the smug, “I know” in his ear.

Daryl punched him in the shoulder. “You know? How the hell’d you know?”

Rick reached up with his free hand and tapped Daryl’s forehead with one long finger. “’Cause I’m perceptive.”

“Fuck you,” Daryl muttered, turning away and trying to look angry despite his pink blush and stupid smile.

Beside him, Rick snorted. “I love you, too.”

It was grotesquely romantic, ironically beautiful, with the steam from the freshly dead walker bodies rising up around them, with the rays of the morning sun making the fetid fog glitter like little white Christmas lights.

A far off, mounting groan hit the cool air and traveled over to them in the putrid breeze. Daryl narrowed his eyes.

“Hear that?” he murmured.

Rick nodded and, to Daryl’s dismay, gently tugged his hand free and pulled out his pistol. Rick looked back over his shoulder to motion to the others; Michonne already standing with her katana drawn and Carl close by, Tyreese with Judith tucked safely in his arms, Sasha and Bob side by side, Carol meeting Daryl’s eyes and giving him a grim smile, Maggie and Glenn trotting up to Rick, Abraham and Rosita and Tara standing dutifully in front of Eugene.

You take what you get, Daryl reminded himself, ducking his head under the strap as he swung his crossbow around. He pointed the nose at the ground and pulled the string until it clicked. Their group gathered behind the two of them, the sounds of knifes being unsheathed and guns being loaded cut through the peaceful air.

The moans drew closer and through the mist slumping shapes started to materialize.

“Shit, again?” Daryl grumbled, reaching to pull out an arrow and slide it into place. He squinted at the horde of walkers coming closer, snarling and stumbling toward them, their rotted hands stretching out, fleshy fingers grasping the air. Rick stood beside him, pistol hanging loosely in his hand, the other hand on his hip, a cheeky little smile playing across his face. He turned to Daryl, ignoring the walkers, and when he spoke his voice was light and jovial.

“Come on, man. You an' me, we've done this before.”


End file.
